Lady Ella
by OnlyaNovel
Summary: "My father was the fifth Earl of Chesney. He married, in his youth, Lady Juliet Linder. I was their only child. My mother, who was very beautiful and gay and affectionate, died in childbed when I was six years old, and my baby brother with her. When I was eight my father married another woman, who was also very beautiful, but neither gay nor affectionate. She was a widow..."
1. Chapter 1

**Lady Ella**

_A/N I don't usually post anything unless it's finished or nearly, but I decided to start posting this one. I've written large portions of it, but there are gaps, and maybe I will be motivated to fill those gaps by having expectant readers, so if you would like to see more, please leave me a review to tell me so. _

**Chapter 1**

My father was the fifth Earl of Chesney. He married, in his youth, Lady Juliet Linder. I was their only child. My mother, who was very beautiful and gay and affectionate, died in childbed when I was six years old, and my baby brother with her. When I was eight my father married another woman, who was also very beautiful, but neither gay nor affectionate. She was a widow, and brought with her her own two daughters, Camilla, aged ten, and Francine, twelve.

To be frank, my father was never a very strong or a very wise man. He was never rich, either. Before him the family estate had already been depleted by his father, who was much addicted to gambling and drink, and he never really had the energy or acumen to restore it. While my mother was alive, he made some attempts, for her sake, and I think that she kept him so happy that he never had the inclinations to indulge much himself. After her death, however, he drifted, and reverted to a life of the kind of expensive indulgence for which his birth and upbringing had prepared him. Not, you understand, that he had any great vices, but just that he had no particular virtues. He spent a great deal of money without ever thinking about it—he wore only the best clothes, drank only the best wine, held membership at all the best clubs. He gambled and bet when in company, and kept a few very fine horses. If questioned, he would have been astonished that any of those things could be regarded as extravagances—they were only the basic components of life, for him. He was a mild, soft-spoken, pleasant man who was never intentionally unkind to any human being in his life, but who lacked any ability to look beyond himself.

I have said all this by way of explaining why it is that it became obvious to even my short-sighted father that it would be to his advantage to make a wealthy second marriage. And wealth my step-mother had. She had been Esther Cumberson, the daughter of a quite ordinary wool-trader, who had made, because of her great beauty, an excellent match with a very rich country gentleman. He was twenty years her senior, and passed away in good time to allow her to pursue her ambition to become a titled lady. Having inherited all of her husband's fortune, she now had enough money to purchase a fine title, and Countess of Chesney seemed to suit her taste quite well, as did my unobtrusive father. She, for her part, must have seemed to him to offer the perfect combination of money, beauty, and even two daughters to be companions to me. I know my father had affection for me, even if it was weak, and it must have pleased him to think that he had provided me with both a mother and two sisters.

Accordingly, almost before I knew what was planned, the three of them arrived at the elegant town house that was the only home I had ever known (there was a country seat, but rather decayed, and since my father did not care for country life anyway, we hardly ever went there). And she _was_ beautiful, in a glittering, golden fashion, with ice-blue eyes, and ageless rose-petal cheeks. She was tall and statuesque, and both moved and spoke with a careful precision that unconsciously revealed the commoner's background she tried so hard to cover. Camilla and Francine must have taken after their father, because they were dark like me, and certainly were not their mother's equal, although hardly ugly, as they have since been labeled. Both girls had even features and good enough figures, and would have, I think, been quite lovely, if their manners and wits (not to mention their hearts) had been better.

The new Lady Chesney was quite careful of me initially; I think she feared trouble with my father if she did not make at least a show of being kind. Pretty soon, however, she realized that the Earl saw very little of what went on in his house, and as long as he could go to his clubs every day, and retire to his library with his cigars in the evening, then she could do pretty much whatever she wanted. Of course, since she was now the one who paid for those clubs and cigars—not to mention the gambling and horses and clothes—that gave her a great deal of power. Her late husband had tied up his money very well on her, and it never did become ours. It was always hers. Knowing that, I think my father was always a little afraid of crossing her, or of prying too deeply. Once every day he would seek me out and talk to me genially for about half an hour, and ask me if I wasn't happy, and I didn't know what to say except, "Yes, of course, Papa." Appealing to him would have done me no good anyway, and even as a child I realized that.

If I had been quiet and dull and plain, then I think my step-mother would have taken little notice of me, and I would have gotten off with nothing more than her casual contempt. She might have even had me brought out with her daughters, that I might present a pleasing contrast to them. However, I was none of those things, and almost from the beginning she hated me. My governess, Miss Polly, who was _my_ governess, and who loved me, and comforted me through my mother's death, was far too partial to me for Lady Chesney's taste. Within a year of her marrying my father Miss Polly was sent off, and a new governess was found to whom the Countess made it very clear which girls should be favored. Miss Cullen was not exactly unkind to me, but she was beaming and fawning for the other two, and even though I was smarter than they and learned all my lessons quicker, still I got scolded and reproached much more. Even the servants began to learn that their new mistress would resent any sign of affection or respect toward her step-daughter. Those that did not get the message, or showed an inclination to challenge her, were quickly dismissed.

So I continued, still a "young lady of the house," but a rather repressed and snubbed one, mostly friendless and lonely. Francine and Camilla themselves were very changeable. Some times they acted kindly toward me, and would take me under their wings for a day or two, and then they would turn around and taunt me and tell their mother I had done something naughty. They were spoiled and unpleasant girls, but looking back I feel rather sorry for them. Most children would have been spoiled and unpleasant if raised the way they were, and I don't think they were ever any happier for it.

When I was eleven my father was thrown from his horse and killed instantly. I cried very hard at his funeral—not so much in grief for the relationship we had, I think, but in grief for the one we didn't have. The next day my step-mother sat me down and told me that I was now a charity case. The title and run-down country estate had passed to a distant cousin, and what small money my mother had left me wouldn't be mine until I was twenty-one. Until then, I had no one in the world to care for me but herself, and she had no intention of raising another woman's daughter without some recompense. Therefore I could start working for my living.

And work I did. It started with errand-running and small jobs around the house. "Ella, fetch the book I left upstairs. Ella, go tell cook to make tea. Ella, take this tray up to the girls," that sort of thing. I was handy with a needle, so soon I found myself with all the household mending. Then I progressed to polishing the silver, and preparing the tea tray, and so on. I had very little time for studies now, although officially they were still going on, and would often stay up late reading and copying out exercises.

If, reader, you are wondering why I did not rebel against this sort of treatment, well I did. I rebelled a great deal, when I was twelve and thirteen especially. I did everything from refusing her outright to smashing her crystal goblets, and yelling and kicking. Every time I did she beat me—hard, while the servants held me down. Then she would take away something I really loved. Once she took away my bedroom, which I had slept in all my life. Another time she took the music box my mother had given me.

It was during these years that I once crept down to sleep by the dying kitchen fire, for I had no fire in my room and it was very cold. When morning came I was found covered with sooty cinders, and that is how I got the nickname that my step-sisters forever after called me by.

When I was fifteen I ran away. I had some wild idea that I would make my way to my maternal grandmother, who was my only relative still living and who I had not seen since my mother died. But she lived a long way away and long before I got there I was found and hauled back to Lady Chesney's house. She was, after all, my legal guardian, and there were none who knew what went on within our household. After she beat me rather savagely, she locked me in my room for two whole weeks. That was when I finally gave in.

I went to her, and told her that I would work for her as a servant, and I would call her Lady Chesney and never refer to our relationship again, if she would do the same, and not set the other servants against me, so that there at least I might find some friendship and dignity. She agreed, and to do her justice, she mostly kept her word. She was even almost kind to me, in a condescending and malicious sort of way. "Ella, dear," she would say, "please don't forget to clean _all_ the crystals on the chandelier this time. I don't like to say anything, but some of them seemed a little smudged after you did it last week. I know you don't mind me giving you a hint."

And I would have to curtsy and smile and say, "Yes, your ladyship. Thank you, your ladyship."

By now we had gone through several complete rounds of servants, and the ones we had were mostly ignorant of any relationship between me and the Countess. Those that did know had been forbidden to mention it on pain of dismissal. When asked, I told people that my name was Ella Linder. It was partially true: my real name is Elisabeth Linder Travers. Lady the Honorable Elisabeth Linder Travers, to be most correct.

This sad history, readers, is to explain how it came that I, the daughter of a Earl and a Lady, and by rights a Lady myself, came to be working as a domestic in the house of my very own step-mother. You mustn't feel too badly for me, or imagine that I was miserable all the time. There were some difficult years, it's true, but even then I couldn't be sad all the time, and later I managed to achieve tranquility, and even happiness. I had some friends among the other servant girls, though none too close—because of course I couldn't tell them the truth about who I was. I got degraded to scullery maid, but that suited me because I had to do very little with those upstairs. There was a certain satisfaction in polishing a floor until it shone, or washing a pile of dirty dishes all clean. I still read voraciously from the library upstairs when I could; books were a matter of indifference to Lady Chesney. I hoarded my small coins carefully, and bought nothing I did not absolutely have to have, for in all this I was just biding my time until my twenty-first birthday. On the day I turned twenty-one, I had vowed, I would go upstairs and stand before my step-mother and demand the money that was my inheritance from my mother. If she refused me, I would walk out straight out to my mother's old solicitor. I knew where his office was. He would be sure I got my due. I did not know how much it would be, but however little, I would take it, and my savings, and go away from this house of bitter memories and humiliation, and make my own way in the world, by whatever means necessary. My birth, my heritage, I considered buried, as dead my two parents. There was only one thing I dreamed of now: liberty.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Francine was brought "out" into society when she was eighteen years old, as was Camilla—the years I was fourteen and sixteen, respectively. The Countess lavished her wealth on them, throwing splendid balls and dressing them in the very height of fashion. Despite her efforts, their success was only mediocre (this I caught from gossip in the servant's hall). An expensive education had not bought them good breeding or intelligence, and society could not forget that their mother had been a tradesman's daughter. Their dowries were certainly large enough to attract a few offers, but none from men of sufficiently high standing for their mother's taste. She turned them all away, waiting for a Duke or a Marquis—but none ever came. As the girls got older both their figures and their tempers suffered, and so it happened that by the time I was nineteen, and they were twenty-one and twenty-three, they were both still unmarried and unpromised.

Which brings us to the ball, of course. All fairy tales must have a ball in them, must they not? And this is, after all, a fairy tale.

It is safe to say that every unmarried young woman (and many married) in London that season was filled with excitement over one particular event: Crown Prince Simon had returned from the wars, where he was said to have distinguished himself with great honor and bravery. He had been injured in his right shoulder—a wound of no very great moment, it was promised, but sufficient that his father determined to keep him home. Many people had murmured when the young prince went off to fight, but he had declared staunchly that he could never expect any soldier to fight and die for him if he was not willing to fight and die for them. So he had gone with the relatively lowly rank of colonel (he would not accept a position that would keep him from the fighting), and all the fighting men of England adored him, and followed him. Some had shaken their heads and predicted that his younger brother Edmund would succeed in his place, but they had been proven wrong, and now that he was back he was the toast of London.

In honor of his safe return, the king was throwing a great ball, to which all of London society was invited. The doors of the palace were to be thrown open like they had not been for many a year. There would be dancing on the lawn, it was said, as well as in the ballroom, and a lavish supper served unlike anything seen before. It was no surprise that even the servants were swept up in the excitement, and the up-stairs maids whispered and giggled together in one circle, while the down-stairs maids did the same in another. And I—I could not help but feel it. I knew, as the others did not, that I should by rights be on that guest list. I could have seen the glittering rooms, and danced in a silk dress with handsome young men, and talked with brilliant older men. I would have curtsied to the queen, and perhaps the king would have taken my hand and spoken a few kindly words to me. Perhaps the prince as well.

I really thought I had inured myself to the idea of parties and balls. I had consigned them all a long time ago to the cold world that my step-mother and sisters inhabited. But now, something stirred within me—a long suppressed longing for the life taken from me.

Less than three weeks remained before the great event. Servant's gossip was all about the preparations already underway—coming from one household to another. I was feeling very dismal that day, and more than a little sorry for myself. Seizing some quiet moments in the afternoon when my work was all done, I fled out the door by the kitchen garden, into the lane. It was quiet there, if not pretty, and I sat down on a wooden crate, buried my face in my apron, and gave vent to my emotions by crying very heartily.

It was then that heard a soft foot-fall, and cultured, motherly voice asked solicitously, "My dear girl, what on earth is the matter? Can I do anything to help?"

Drying my eyes hastily, I looked up. There stood a very little woman, middle aged and prettily plump, and dressed in expensive, fashionable clothes. Her twinkling brown eyes met mine.

"Oh, no, ma'am," I said in my best servant-girl tones, "Thank you, ma'am. You must forgive me for giving way a little bit. It was nothing, I'm sure. Just a bit of nerves."

"Nonsense!" she said briskly. "Something must have given you cause to cry like that." She nodded at the house behind me. "Do you work _there_, for That Woman?"

I nodded dumbly.

"Then that's probably cause enough. What's your name, child?"

"Ella, ma'am." I stood up and bobbed a curtsy.

"Ella what?"

"Ella Linder."

At the name she stepped forward sharply, taking my chin in her hand and scrutinizing me fiercely. "Ella Linder _Travers_?" she asked after a few moments.

My eyes widened, and I could only nod again speechlessly. Then the amazing little woman enveloped me in her arms. "My darling girl," she whispered in my ear. "At last I've found you!" And I clung to her in astonishment, tears starting in my eyes again, not understanding anything except that I had somehow, mysteriously, miraculously even, found a friend.

"I am Cindy Gainswood," she said at last, when she released me. Seeing the blank look in my eyes, she exclaimed, "My good girl, don't you know who I am? I'm your godmother!"

"I don't have a godmother," I said stupidly.

"Of course you do! Didn't anyone ever tell you? My, my your father must have been very remiss." _That's one way of putting it_, I thought ironically. "I was your mother's dearest friend. We grew up near each other in the country and came out in the same season. You used to play with my children when you were toddlers. But my husband was sent to Vienna when you were only four years old, and we've been there ever since. My children are there still. I came back only in the spring, and the first thing I did was make inquiries about you. I even visited that _awful_ woman your father married. She told me that you'd gone to live with your grandmother. I gather that's the story she's been using for some years to explain your disappearance from her household. I, however, was suspicious and made my own inquiries. You take it from me—if I hadn't found you here today I would have found you soon enough."

(Lest is occur to you to wonder, reader, just what she was doing in a back kitchen alley, I should say that I've wondered the same thing many times myself but, you know, I've never asked her.)

"Now," she continued briskly, while I stood trying to gather my wits, "let me look at you." And she whisked off my maid's mobcap and walked slowly around me, studying me inch for inch. "Just as I thought," she nodded. "You were a beautiful child and now you're a beautiful woman. It's disgraceful to see you in such a get up, though! You don't mean to tell me that you actually work as a maid, do you?" I nodded.

"Unbelievable!" Her eyes snapped. "Why, that woman! She'll be run out of town by the time I'm done with her! But come now," she took my hand, "I don't know why we're standing around in this idiotic fashion. My carriage is just at the end of the lane. We can talk there."

And it was—an elegant closed carriage with an impossibly discreet-faced footman who opened the door for us and helped me in as if his mistress gave rides to house maids every day. In its relative darkness and privacy I told her very simply the story of my upbringing. She did not speak for several long moments, and when she did her voice sounded constrained, almost like she was holding back tears. "Well, that's all over now. You'll come immediately to live with me, and _I_ will bring you out."

My heart leapt, but I shook my head. "She'd never let me."

"Let you! I'd like to know how she could stop you!"

"She's my legal guardian," I said simply.

"Oh, is she now! Well, just a few words to a magistrate about her treatment of you—"

"No!" I said hastily. "No, please! You mustn't tell anyone."

"Ah, still have some of the Travers pride in you, eh? Well, I think the better of you for it. But just the same, I think a few well-placed threats of exposure could do wonders for her tractability."

I thought about that one for a long time—a very long time. All at once, in giddy array, every dream I'd had and many I hadn't, rose enticingly before me. Name—rank—wealth—friendship—all the things I had laid down and thought lost forever—all seemed restored to me in a single hour. My step-mother would be humbled, my step-sisters made jealous, and nothing, even the Grand Ball itself, would be out of my reach.

But still I hesitated. "What is it?" asked Mrs. Gainswood, who was watching me closely. "What's holding you back?"

I blushed deeply, but forced myself to speak honestly. "I don't know if I'm ready to be Lady Elisabeth again. Or even if I can be." I raised my eyes to her face. "I've been a servant for nearly half my life," I said humbly. "It's all I know, really. I mean, the society people my step-sisters go around with—I've never even spoken to them. Lady—my step-mother sent me to the kitchen the first time one of Francine's callers stared too hard at me. Since then I've hardly set foot upstairs except to sneak a book from the library. And that was three years ago!"

"I see," she said quietly. "And do you feel you prefer a life of service?"

"Prefer it? No, but—I don't know if I want a society life either. I mean, my father, my step-mother and her daughters—they were—are—all vain, selfish, indulgent people. At least one thing I've learned is the value of hard work—the dignity of it. I can't imagine just sitting around all day and—and drinking chocolate!"

That made her smile. "I see," she said again, but with more understanding now. "So it's just the unfamiliarity of it all that scares you?"

"I suppose so," I conceded.

"Well, I have an idea then!" She grew brisk again. "if you don't jump at this, I shall think you a very strange young woman indeed! There is a masked ball being held next week—a private one you understand, in one of the best homes—to which I can get you a card. Everyone there will be masked, so you needn't fear exposing yourself. The masks come off at midnight, but of course you can slip away before then. This will give you the perfect chance to mingle _incognita_ with all the best of high society. You'll find out then if you're really out of place among them. For I can tell you," she went on, as I sat with my mind whirling, "You may masquerade as a maid very well when you choose, but ever since you dropped that falsified manner you've looked and spoken and moved just like a lady—except for that ridiculous dress of course. Well?" she demanded, with hardly a pause. "What are you waiting for? Say yes!"

"Uh—yes!" I stumbled.

"Yay!" She clapped her hands like a child. "Now, about your dress—"

When I left her carriage half an hour later, I felt numb and strange. We'd arranged for me to meet her on my half day off to be fitted for a gown. I was also to ask for the afternoon and evening of the ball off—cite the wedding of a friend, or some such thing.

Re-entering the kitchen I encountered Cook, who glared at me with her arms crossed. "And where have you been all this time, missy? I didn't give you leave to take an hour off! And here I was needing you to work the stove for me—"

I mumbled something about feeling sick and ran off to my room. It was a small affair, which I shared with Mary, the other kitchen maid. In the dim light there I stared into the brassy mirror and took inventory of myself.

Wide brown eyes and plentiful brown hair, very long and a bit curly when let down. A heart-shaped face and a bow-shaped mouth. Hard work had probably been good for me rather than otherwise. My cheeks were rosy, and I was slim and round and strong. Plenty of under-footmen and gardener's boys had come flirting for me to know I was pretty. How would I look, I wondered, in a really fine gown?


	3. Chapter 3

_**I have renamed this story "Lady Ella" because I hate not having a title. **_

**Chapter 3**

The next week crawled by on wheels of stone and mud. It had been years since I found my work so onerous and almost distasteful. When Monday came around I almost bounded out of bed, and dressed quickly in my only non-work dress. It was plain and well-worn, as was my bonnet, but I set out on foot with a light heart.

I found Mrs. Gainswood's house easily enough. Summoning my courage, I plied the knocker. A stately butler appeared. Flushing under his gaze, I tried to assume my best Countess manner. "Please tell Mrs. Gainswood that Miss Linder is here to see her," I told him loftily.

To my great relief, he immediately moved aside. "Madam is expected you," he intoned. "If you will follow me, I will bring you to her."

I found my godmother gleefully partaking of tea while discussing dress designs with her personal dresser. Seeing me, she jumped up and embraced me. "My darling girl!" she said, twinkling at me. "We have _such_ a day ahead! Let me introduce Jesson. She does wonders!" The pump woman bowed composedly. "Now," she continued, as she brought me in and plied me with tea and cakes, "I have arranged to have everything the most discreet. London's most famous dressmaker is actually coming here with a collection of choices. She never does this, of course, but for me, because I buy a lot of clothing and always pay promptly—for me she will do anything!"

So it appeared. By the time I trod my way home that night I felt that I truly had been transformed into another woman. Standing before a long mirror in a succession of exquisite ball gowns, I saw myself for the first time—not as Ella the step-daughter, Ella the servant, but as the Lady Elisabeth Travers, with rich blue blood in my veins and the face and mind to go with it.

Then I put on my faded gingham dress and walked home to my small shared room, and when I woke up again I put back on the guise of a maid, but all day long I dreamed of ballrooms and sweeping skirts and handsome men bending to kiss my hand. I was, I suppose, very silly, but then what girl is not, at some point in time?

On the night before the masque, I waited for everyone to fall asleep and then crept up the back stairs, and into the attic. I had one treasure box hidden up there—one small chest I had managed to keep from her, stuffed behind rag boxes and broken furniture. Lighting my lantern, I dragged it out, then kneeling in the dust and cobwebs, I opened it.

A very few precious things: a miniature of my mother, and another of me as a child. A few jewels—oh, nothing very valuable, all those had gone to the second wife—but just pretty trinkets my father once gave me from her. I found a delicate diamond necklace and matching earrings, and set them aside. There was one dress—the last party dress she'd worn, faded and still faintly redolent of her perfume. When I smelled it, I suddenly remembered _her_ again, as she had looked in that dress, laughing and twirling so I could see it, then taking me in her arms and kissing me, heedless of her skirts and hair. I had wanted to be _just like her_.

On top of the delicate fabric sat a pair of shoes—slippers, really, stitched all over with mirrored bits of glass. My father had had them made especially for my mother, so that she would glitter as she danced, he said, but she had never gotten to wear them. They were a bit outdated now, but so pretty, and they looked the right size for my feet. I set them aside too.

Sighing deeply, I closed and locked the chest, and pushed it back in its place. Then I crept every so carefully downstairs to my narrow bed, carrying my treasures wrapped up in a bit of burlap.

The next day I was in a fever of excitement. I dropped two plates and Cook threatened me with dismissal, but all I could summon was a wavering smile and muttered apology. I had to finish scouring all the pots and pans before I could leave, and the job had never seemed to take so long. Regretfully, I looked at my red and work-hardened fingers. _Those_ weren't the hands of a lady.

Finally I had leave to go. I gathered my belongings and scattered thoughts and hurried through the streets. Again the knocker on the door and the same unbending butler who brought me in. Mrs. Gainswood met me at the bottom of the stairs this time and took me up herself, to a back bed chamber. There the robing process began.

We hit our first road block when Jesson let my hair down. She ran her hands through it approvingly. "As beautiful a head of hair as I've yet to see. But over long, of course. It will need to be cut before I can dress it properly."

I made an split decision. "No."

"What, miss?"

"I don't want my hair cut." My eyes met Mrs. Gainswood's in the mirror, half appealing, half stubborn. "There must be some way you can dress it as it is."

"But, miss—" Jesson turned to Mrs. Gainswood.

That lady, trying in vain to stare me down, relaxed and smiled. "Very well," she conceded. "She will be unique, Jesson. She will set fashions."

So my hair was pulled back without the profusion of short curls that were so popular. Jesson braided and twisted and pinned until somehow it was all up there, graceful and intricate.

All the clothes were new, even the under things: silk stockings and cambric petticoats. And then the dress. It was a deep, almost mid-night blue, cut simply, but breath taking in its effect, I thought. I had already shown them the shoes and jewels. "I want to wear these," I said firmly. They let me. Then over my face went a velvet mask, in the same dark blue. Staring at myself in the mirror, I thought I looked like some kind of an exotic princess.

Mrs. Gainswood was obviously pleased. The whole time I had been getting dressed she kept chuckling and nodding, and now she clapped her hands. "Perfect!" she cried. "Everyone will be _dying_ to know who you are!"

"No!" I cried.

"No, no, of course not! I won't say a word—not unless you give me leave! Now, come, you must eat something before you go."

"Isn't it customary for ladies to have an escort to parties?" I asked curiously as we ate the supper that had been brought up to the room for us.

"Well, yes," she admitted, "but we shall have to do without, shan't we? Besides, everyone relaxes the rules a little at a masked ball. It will only add to your mystique."

Bowing through the shadowy streets in her carriage, I repeatedly smoothed the long white silk gloves. "Keep them on," I had been warned, "no one must see your hands." They were the only white I wore.

I felt like I was entering a dream as I stepped down before a large, well-lit house set on gracious lawns. I slipped inside as quickly as I could, and followed the streams of couples to the ballroom. A large, bluff man stood by the door way, greeting everyone who went it. "Well, hallo, who have we here?" He asked, taking my hand and looking me over. "Where has your young man gone, eh? Well, never mind you'll soon find another, I'll warrant. Save a dance for me, won't you?"

"Thank you," I said, finding my voice, and fled.

I was truly dazzled by the sights within. The flocks of gaily dressed people, the music and food and the press and the dancing and the lights all overwhelmed me. For some time I just drifted in a circle around the room, talking to no one, just looking. I saw many curious gazes directed at me, male and female alike, and just smiled slyly at them. Secure behind my velvet mask, I began to enjoy myself. I even dared to make conversation with an older gentleman standing by the fireplace who spoke to me. He made me laugh, and I could tell I aroused his interest.

It was while I was giggling over a glass of lemonade he brought me, that we were approached by a younger man wearing an unassuming but handsome grey suit and black mask. He was blond, with close-cut hair, and looked very tanned. My new friend turned immediately when he saw him coming. "My dear," he said to me, "you must allow me to present you with a desirable dancing partner. A lovely young thing like yourself should not be standing here talking with an old man like me. And you, sir," he said to the stranger, "shall thank me, for I have found a most charming creature who refuses to tell me her name. And since you are also going nameless tonight, you and she should mutually enjoy your mutual namelessness together, and neither one take offense at the other's reticence." And with a last absurd flourish he placed my hand in the stranger's, and retired.

We looked at each other awkwardly, then I saw the gleam of laughter in his eyes, and started to giggle, and he chuckled, and we both were laughing. "You must forgive my friend," he said, retaining my hand and drawing it, perhaps unconsciously, through his arm. "He loves to place people in awkward situations."

"I like him," I said shyly.

"So do I." He smiled down on me. "Now, shall we dance?"

I had been afraid to dance. Mrs. Gainswood had had a dancing master over on Monday too, and I spent the afternoon practicing steps with him, but I felt far from sure of myself. It seemed only fair to this unknown gentleman to give him some warning. "I'm afraid I may not be a very good dancer," I told him, as we took our places.

He glanced down, raising his eyebrows. "You surprise me! Why?"

"Well I haven't precisely danced much recently."

At that he grinned. "Well, neither have I," he said, and away we went.

I am sure we were far from the most graceful and skilled dancers on the floor that night, but we did well enough for each other. It seemed the more we stumbled the more we laughed and when once we actually crashed into another pair on the dance floor it was several moments before either of us were able to speak again. After that it is not surprising that our reserve seemed to drop away. As the dances progressed we improved, and soon were able to engage in conversation about something other than our feet. At first this took the form of sly comments on our fellow ball-goers' various costumes, but eventually progressed to a more personal note.

"So what brings you here _incognita_ tonight?" he asked me, as we twirled around in a waltz.

I smiled. "I guess I'm just trying to wet my social feet gradually."

"Meaning any blunders you make won't be put to your account later? I can understand that."

"Well, I don't know that that's all of it," I answered thoughtfully. "The truth is that I'm not sure yet if I _want_ to enter society. Coming here tonight was something of an experiment."

I saw his smile flash white. "And how are you liking it?"

"Moderately well, thank you," I replied politely.

He laughed. "You have my sympathies. I'm not sure I want to re-enter society myself, but in my case I have no choice. You could say I am also trying to wet my feet gradually."

"Re-enter?" I asked quietly.

"Yes—I just got back from the war," he said with a little constraint.

"Ah." Of course I should have guessed. His short, sun-bleached hair and dark tan—not to mention that certain set of his shoulders—all spoke of the military man. For some reason I felt immediately closer to him. This was someone, like me, who had been accustomed to a different way of life than this—someone who, perhaps, did not feel entirely at home.

The dance ended. It was our third one together; strangely, I had not even thought of seeking another partner, nor had he shown any inclination to do the same. But just then a man in a jacket and hat with a sweeping feather came up and solicited my hand with a bow. I glanced uncertainly at my partner; he said nothing. This was, I reminded myself, the whole point of the ball, wasn't it? Hesitantly I put my hand in the other's; as he led me away, I looked back over my shoulder at the man in the grey suit, trying to smile at him. He watched me go, but did not smile back.

My new partner was a better dancer than my previous one; very smooth and skilled on the floor. I was grateful that I had had some practice before trying to match him. His conversation was also different—and much less to my taste. He paid me provocative compliments in a light, bantering tone and watched to see how I reacted to them. He was trying to make me blush or laugh, but he succeeded in neither. At first I was a little amused by him, but as the dance went on I found myself growing colder and colder toward him. I had been treated this way before—by footmen and grocer's boys. I had thought to receive better at the hands of the upper class. I found myself looking around for my old dance partner, and glimpsed him, once or twice, dancing with a lady in a pink dress and blonde curls. I wondered if she was a better dancer than I had been.

By the time the music ended I was heartily sick of the man with the feathered hat, and ready to be rid of him. But somehow, before I knew what was happening, he had drawn me aside, and with a firm grip on my arm was compelling me toward a small curtained room off to the side of the ballroom. I was reasonably sure that I could not break free of him without causing the kind of struggle designed to attracted unwanted attention, so there seemed nothing to do but submit with what dignity I could.

The moment we were in the room I turned to him. "Sir," I said, as haughtily as I could manage, "I do not know your purpose in bringing me here, but I demand that you let me leave at once!"

His eyebrow went up. "Leave?" he asked, catching my hand again. "Before I've had a glimpse of your pretty face? Come now!"

I snatched my hand back, and retreated several paces. "Leave me alone!" I hissed, dignity forgotten.

"I've had my eye on you all night," he said with a leer. "And though you seem to prefer that other fellow, I know you didn't come with him. In fact, you came alone, and that means you need a protector." He advanced toward me, and caught by my hands, pulling me toward him. "Come now, I'll not hurt you! I just want to see what's under that mask of yours!"

I struggled, but he was stronger than I was. I was just contemplating screaming (and wondering if anyone would hear me), when my assailant was unceremoniously hauled back by the scruff of the neck by the man in the grey suit. I gasped with relief to see him.

"Hey, what the—!" the man in the hat swore, and tried to swing, but my friend evaded him easily.

"Oh no, you don't!" he said. "Now are you going to leave, or I am going to have to knock you down?" There was steel in his voice, and he clenched his fist menacingly, still holding the fellow easily in one hand.

It was evident that the man in the hat was a coward. He looked like he was going to take the challenge for a moment, then he pulled himself free, straightened his collar angrily, and darted angry glances at the both of us. "Oh well. She's probably ugly anyway," he said deliberately, storming out.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

"Charming fellow," remarked my friend drily, turning to me. "Are you well?"

I sank down onto the bench with a sigh of relief. "Yes, thanks to you! How can I thank you for coming to my rescue like that? And how did you know?"

"I was watching you," he said simply. "I was kicking myself for handing you over for the whole dance, and when I saw him drag you in here I knew there would be trouble."

"Yes, you were right, of course. I should have stopped him, but I didn't know how without causing a fuss." I looked at him, staring down at me with his arms crossed, his broad shoulders set and a slight smile around his sensitive mouth, while his eyes gleamed mysteriously from behind his mask. "I didn't like him, even before he brought me here."

"I'm glad." He sat down next to me, and offered his hand. I put mine into it. "I won't make the same mistake that other fellow did of trying to take your mask off, but perhaps I have earned some sort of confidence… a first name perhaps?" he asked hopefully.

I could think of no reason not to tell him. "Ella," I said shyly.

"Ella," he repeated. "Why that's charming."

He stood up and seemed about to draw me after him, but I held back, saying rather boldly, "And you, sir?"

He paused, surprised. "Me?'

"Can I—may I know some name I may thank you by?"

He hesitated, then smiled. "Of course. Forgive me. You may call me Simon."

"Simon," I repeated, pleased, and took his arm to go for refreshments.

Now reader, don't laugh at me. There must be thousands of Simons in this country.

We remained together for the rest of the evening. Safe behind our masks, heedless of propriety, we danced until we were breathless, then sat together and laughed until ready to start again.

"You know, there are plenty of other beautiful women you could be dancing with," I reminded him at one point.

"I know," he said.

When the room finally grew too stuffy, he took me outside to stroll down the terrace in the evening air. There we talked for—oh, it seemed like hours, although in actual fact it wasn't quite that long. I questioned him about the war, and he answered me, and talked long about his experiences overseas with the army. He did not mention his rank and I did not ask, but it was obvious that he had had men under him, and equally obvious that he had not shrunk back from the battle himself. There in the moonlight, leaning on the balustrade, his voice grew distant as he talked of cannon fire and long marches; of maneuvers and charges; of loneliness, homesickness, and death's grim face.

I listened to him raptly. Here was a man who had really _done_ something—something real, something important.

At last he turned to me with a sigh. I saw his teeth gleam in the moonlight. "I have been talked far too much," he said. "You were probably bored long ago."

I shook my head. "No, indeed," I said earnestly, "I wanted to hear you. It all seems so…"

"Exciting?" he suggested sardonically.

"Important."

His hand covered mine on the rail, and I did not draw back. "And what of you, Mistress Ella? You have told me nothing at all concerning yourself."

I shook my head.

"Oh come, you must tell me something," he coaxed. "It's only fair."

"Well…" I hesitated. "My mother died when I was a child. I remember her as the loveliest, gayest, sweetest woman ever. Look." I pulled back the hem of my skirt. The slippers flashed and glittered. "I'm wearing her shoes."

"Very pretty." There was a laugh in his voice.

"I think that if she had lived I would have had a very different life," I said seriously. "But when she died everything changed. My father, he was well-meaning, but, well, not very attentive."

"And what has your life been?" he asked gently.

I did not answer him. Instead I said, with some difficulty, "It must seem strange to you that I have never gone into society before, but it's the truth. There are reasons, but I cannot get into them tonight. But I want you to know that I am an honest and virtuous woman." The last words came out with more force than I intended.

"I didn't doubt it." He was looking at me with a bit of a frown now, but he did not draw his hand back from mine. On the contrary, he seemed only to clasp it tighter, and I found myself returning its pressure.

His next remark surprised me. "Will you be at the Royal Ball next week?"

"I don't really know. Why?"

"Will you try? Will you to try to make it, for my sake? That is—" he paused, and I could almost have sworn he blushed a little. "That is if you would be willing to see me again. Without masks."

My heart pounded, and my breath caught uncomfortably. Simon's tall form loomed over me, and I wondered for a moment if he was going to try to kiss me, but all he did was hold my hand in his, waiting for my answer.

"I—I will try." I found myself saying, and I knew that I would. His quick white smile rewarded me, and he pressed my fingers.

"How will I recognize you?" his voice low. "I don't think I shall have any trouble, even without a mask, but just in case—"

"Well—" I laughed suddenly. "By my slippers."

He nodded. "By your glass slippers, then. I will look for them."

A sudden cheer when up from the ballroom. I looked at Simon questioningly. "I believe they're unmasking," he informed me gravely.

I drew back a little. "No, it's all right," he said. "Not tonight, I know. I will escort you out by a side way, if you will allow me."

"Thank you."

"Well…" he let go my hand, but only to touch a small curl on my forehead, very lightly. I shivered at the touch like it was a caress. "It is good night, then, Ella. I don't know when I've enjoyed an evening more."

"Me either," I whispered.

"Say you won't fail me, Ella. Say you'll be there."

"I—I can't," I stumbled. "There are so many things it depends on."

"Very well." He sighed. "I'll have to be content with that. Now let's get you out of here."

He led me around the house, through a side door, and down a hallway. The carriage was already waiting for me. As Simon handed me into it I felt grateful that there was no crest on the panel to give me away.

He kissed my fingertips before he let me go. "Til next week," he murmured, and I know I blushed.

As the carriage set off I leaned back against the cushions, tired but exhilarated. To dance a few dances—to talk a little with high society people and observe their manners, was all I had hoped from this evening. Instead I had gotten—I flushed and refused to define what I had gotten. But whatever it was, it had a great deal to do with a pair of broad shoulders, and a white smile.

Mrs. Gainswood was waiting up for me when I returned. "Well, my dear?" she asked. "Did you enjoy it?"

"Mostly. I felt very strange at first, but not so much later."

She nodded. "And did you speak with any agreeable people?"

"A few. And some not so agreeable."

"Inevitable, I'm afraid." She dismissed that. "And did you dance with many young men?"

"I danced a great deal," I answered a bit evasively.

"Did any one ever remark on your lack of breeding, or seemed offended, or stare at you like you were vulgar?"

"No," I admitted.

"And did you feel that you were in any particular respect inferior to those other people present?"

"Well… my dancing…"

"That doesn't count."

"Oh. Well, then, no."

"Then it's settled! You shall remain with me and become Lady Elisabeth again." She looked at me with satisfaction.

I hardly knew what to say to her. One evening at a masque had not convinced me that I wanted to become a society lady, and fear of step-mother's retaliations still loomed large in my mind. But to return to a life of drudgery seemed scarcely possible now. When I had imagined my birthright irrevocably dead, I had found myself able to bear it, but now that it was all but resurrected, that life seemed already unbearable.

Then I thought of Simon. I had made him a promise, and keep it I must. Just the thought of seeing him again drove away many a protest.

"Do you really think you can deal with my step-mother?"

"Absolutely."

"Then I'll do it."

Mrs. Gainswood clapped her hands and beamed. "This is going to be so much fun!" she declared. "Just you leave everything to me!"

I was content to do that—until I found out that she never meant me to return home at all. "But I must!" I protested.

"Now, Ella." Her face grew very nearly stern. "I'll not have you go back to that—woman's house, to be possibly coerced or even locked up. I have you here safe now, and she doesn't know where you are at all—and so I intend to keep it!"

"But—my mother's trunk. My money!"

"Money!" she exclaimed. "Child, I have money enough for both of us! Your paltry savings won't matter."

"But it's my money," I insisted stubbornly. "I worked for four years to save it, and I'm not giving it up. Or my mother's picture."

She stood up, went across the room to a desk, rummaged in the drawer, and returned with something which she placed in my hand. It was my mother's likeness, an exact replica of what I had in my box. "Is that what you want?"

Wordlessly I cradled it in the my hands, tears starting in my eyes. Then I felt her hand on my shoulder, and heard her voice, very gentle. "There, there now, my dear. Do not fear—you mother's memory shall never die as long as I live, nor shall it be denied to you."

I nodded. "I won't take the risk of getting mine, then," I managed to say, "but I'm still going back for my money."

With a laugh and an admonishment, she gave in. I promised most strictly to stay only long enough to collect my possessions, and her coachman took me, dropping me off down the street.

I felt badly leaving Cook and the rest of the staff so abruptly, but I knew they would soon enough find someone else to take my place.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

I spent the next two weeks in seclusion, practicing my dancing, rehearsing table etiquette and getting a refresher course in the obligatory accomplishments. I couldn't play an instrument but I could sing; I could read French well but my pronunciation, according to my godmother, was atrocious; I knew far too much about ancient history and not nearly enough about recent literature. Still, on the whole, I was declared more than passable.

My ball gown, when I was allowed to view it in all its splendor, was a beautiful shade of green frosted with a layer of fine lace, and was cut to show off my shoulders. This time I got my hair curled, a process I thought too long and painful to be worthwhile, but the result was rather nice. Curls down my back, curls on my head with small glittering clips buried in them. Again I wore my diamonds, and the sparkling shoes, and long white gloves. Again I barely recognized the woman in the mirror. Other than her serious brown eyes, she looked a frivolous creature. What would Simon think, I wondered, when he saw me? Would he be pleased?

The palace took my breath away when I saw it. It was enormous, brilliantly lit, surrounded by untold gardens laid out in intricate patterns. We waited in a line of carriages for about an hour, while I tried not to hang out of the window, staring at the high, symmetrical walls and thousand windows.

When our carriage finally reached the entrance, there was a whole double line of footmen waiting to receive us—to hand us out of the carriage, help us up the long stairs and direct us to the woman's cloak room (as big as a small ballroom in and of itself) where maids took our cloaks and handed us bits of paper with numbers on them. "Keep that with you," Mrs. Gainswood said. "You'll need it to reclaim your cloak later."

It was all so crowded and grand, it was overwhelming. At first I couldn't see anything but arched ceilings, chandeliers, and the heads of people in front of me. Yet somehow the crowds began to break up as we moved through the rooms. I stayed near to my godmother, who seemed to know an astonishing number of people, considering the fact that she had been gone out of the country for so long. There was dancing in several rooms, even besides the main ballroom, which was so large and bright it boggled my mind. Godmother and I edged our way around it, stopping to greet people every few feet. Someone pointed out the prince to me, but I could not make out who they meant in the mass of dancers, and, to be honest, I wasn't very interested. I kept looking for men who looked like _my_ Simon, but even as I did my heart sank. How would I ever find him here, in this milieu?

Eventually I was introduced to a young man who asked me to dance. I went reluctantly, seeing from Mrs. Gainswood's face how much she wished me to go. He was polite enough, but it was all I could do to be polite back. I know I didn't give him the attention he deserved; I spent the whole time staring at the faces of other men, after all.

When the dance was over he escorted me to the side of the room again. Mrs. Gainswood was deep in conversation; I said something in her ear, I don't remember what, but she waved me away, and I escaped.

It was so very, very different from what I was used to. One ball and a week living in luxury could not accustom me to such privilege again. I felt more affinity with the servants lining the walls than I did the fine ladies in their feathers and silks. My ball gown was, frankly, very uncomfortable, and inside my gloves my hands were beginning to sweat. It really was terribly hot. I wandered from room to room, gaping at the opulence, but mostly looking for Simon. I felt like a fool, a giddy, silly, absurd little fool, who had lost her head over a man whose full name she didn't even know—but I couldn't help myself. Perhaps it wasn't just Simon himself—perhaps it was the hope of what he represented, that I could be desirable still, that I could find love with a man of sense and breeding, that after years of drudgery life could be beautiful again.

Inevitably, hot and dispirited and uncomfortable at the way men kept looking at me, I sought refuge in a small side room. I had already collapsed onto a small settee before I realized that I wasn't alone. Across the room from me, standing in the shadows, a dark-haired girl stood hastily dabbing at her face. "I beg your pardon," I said. "I didn't mean to disturb you."

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," she said. "I am—" Her sentence ended as she gasped.

I had been tugging at those wretched gloves, but at the gasp I looked up, and found myself staring directly into the face of my step-sister Camilla. I gave a small gasp myself, and for several moments all we did was look at each other across the room. Denial was impossible. "Hello, Camilla," I said at last.

As if my words roused her, she blinked, and her eyes narrowed. "What are you doing here?" she demanded. "Where did you get that dress?"

"That's none of your concern."

"It's my mother's concern! She's your guardian, and you've run away from home!"

"That house ceased to be my home years ago," I said, standing jerkily to my feet.

"No, it's our home now. For you, it's just a place of work. Why, look at you!" She gave a small, forced laugh. "You almost look as if you belonged here, instead of working in the kitchens! Perhaps if you go downstairs they can give you some pots to scrub!"

"I do belong here," I hissed, "more than you!"

"That's not what my mother will say, when she finds out you're here. I can't wait to see what she's going to do with you."

I had to get out of here. Trading words with Camilla wasn't going to help me at all—I just had to get away from her, and hide myself in the crowd so they wouldn't find me, or my godmother. Godmother! She would know what to do. Without another word I turned and left.

Coming hastily out of the room, I collided with a broad chest in an officer's uniform, and fell back in confusion, gasping apologies. A male voice said, "No, forgive me, ma'am I didn't—" then, "Ella?" it said eagerly. "Ella, is that you?"

I looked up into a lean, handsome, tanned face and blinked. The hair, the shoulders, the voice were all familiar. "Simon!" I exclaimed thankfully.

"Ella!" His hands came out and rested on my arms. "I've found you at last! I've been looking all night—" his voice suddenly changed. "Ella, what's happened?" he asked sharply, looking behind me into the antechamber. "Has someone been bothering you?"

"No—that is—oh, just get me out of here, please!" I exclaimed. Immediately he took my hand, and led me through a small door I hadn't even noticed, and into an empty hallway beyond. We went quickly down a few steps, and then he opened a door, and brought me into what looked like a private library. As he shut the door I sank thankfully into a chair, then looked up to see that he was leaning with his shoulders to it, watching me intently. Somehow I couldn't help laughing under the intensity of his gaze. His eyes were a bright, golden hazel, very clear, even arresting. "What is it?" I asked self-consciously.

He shook his head, and I was surprised to see a little color rise up under his dark tan. "It's just—my heavens, you are beautiful." Now it was my turn to blush. "I knew you would be, of course," he said, coming across the room and sitting down near me. "Your mask didn't hide that much." He took my hand, and held it firmly and comfortingly. "Now," he said, "what's been happening to distress you?"

I can hardly describe the sense of relief that flooded me at having him so near, holding my hand and looking at me so. The very set of his shoulders denoted confidence; there was intelligence and strength in his face, and gentleness in his voice and touch. Suddenly the confrontation with Camilla seemed trivial; my anxiety, overblown. I had, for the first time since my mother died, two very real friends I felt I could trust: my godmother, and this man, this friend of an evening to whom I already felt so linked. Gratefully my fingers returned the pressure of his, and I smiled at him, happy again. "Nothing of significance," I said. "I think I'm just not—used to all this, you know."

"Yes, I think I do," he said, and sighed, looking around him. "It's hard to come home after a long absence. I must admit that after campfires and battles, so much pomp and finery seems a little—" he paused.

"Ridiculous?" I suggested.

"Yes," he agreed, smiling his attractive smile. "Exactly."

I smiled back. "At yet here we both are."

"Yes, here we both are. And we both went to the masked ball, too, eh? I suppose for the same reason, too."

I nodded, understanding him. Then for the first time he seemed to realize that he was still holding my hand, and looked down at it, rubbing the white satin softly with his thumb. Having no particular desire that he let it go, I waited. Watching the changing thoughts play across his sensitive face, I surprised myself by reaching out my hand and lightly touching his cheek with my fingers. "What is it?" I asked. It was a rather bold and intimate gesture, but it did not seem to offend him.

He shook his head and smiled slightly, releasing my hand (reluctantly, I thought). "I'm—I'm glad you're here, Ella," he said, stretching his long legs out. "It's been an infernally long evening, bowing and making conversation, and dancing with an endless parade of girls."

"But you like dancing," I observed mildly.

He turned his head at that, looking at me with warm eyes. "With you, I do. But you don't talk me to death, or titter and simper. Or flirt like a—like a—" he left it hanging.

I was amused. "Is that what the other girls did?"

"Yes." Without seeming to think about it, he took my hand again, holding it lightly but firmly. "I've been looking for you all night, Ella. Where were you?"

"Dancing with the prince, of course," I answered mischievously. He looked startled for a moment, then burst out laughing.

"Of course you were," he chuckled, and raised my hand to his lips for a moment. "The prince, after all, is only a man." His look was full of meaning, and I found myself blushing deeply. Immediately he turned his eyes away in consideration, and I found myself prompted to say, "Well, actually I haven't even seen the prince. I was…."

"Yes?" he prompted me, looking back.

"I was looking for you," I admitted.

"And now you found me," he murmured. His grasp on my hand tightened, and he looked at me with such intensity that I thought for a moment that he was going to kiss me. And was I not waiting for it, dear reader? Yes, I most certainly was, with breath bated and my heart pounding, but in the end he turned his head. Letting my breath out, I tried to compose myself, and wondered almost impatiently why he kept holding my hand. When at last I pulled it back gently, he let it go with look that was almost surprised.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I guess—I guess you seem the only real thing here tonight, in a way." He rubbed his hands through his short blond hair, and seemed to shake himself. "I guess I've just been away too long," he said, standing up, and walking to the window.

"No," I said thoughtfully, "it seems to me that you would _have_ to get away from all this, wouldn't you—if you wanted to stay a real person, that is."

"A real person?" He raised his eyebrows.

I laughed at my own word choice. "I mean a person who remembers what the real world is like, for most people. Who—who remembers campfires and battles, and also hard work, and want, and—and obscurity." I stood up and walked to the window beside him, staring out at the lawn where the exquisitely dressed gentry and nobility strode about laughing and talking. "This is all so beautiful," I murmured, "it's like a dream. But who can live in a dream without wanting to wake up eventually?"

"Most of them do," he said with a nod. "And, believe me, they don't want to wake up to the kind of a world you're talking about! But I know what you mean. People need a greater purpose than just balls and pleasure. Those that don't have it tend to slip into all kinds of destructive habits. I've seen it many times. And even—even a king, say, needs to see the world outside the palace, needs to understand it. How can you justly rule people whose lives are so far different from your own?"

"And yet," I added to give a counter argument, "I can tell you that the common people wouldn't want a king who was just like them. They wouldn't think it was right. How can he rule over me if he's just like me? That's how they would think. Ordinary people—the ones who generally fight, and work, and do all the things that actually make nations run and allow the upper class to live in this splendor—they want to know that their sovereign really is superior to them. Otherwise, what's the point in serving him?"

"What indeed?" He was looking at me again, keenly and brightly. "You are certainly not just in the common way, Ella Unknown. Will you tell me your name?"

Suddenly, I felt a completely irrational sense of panic. "Will you tell me yours?" I returned.

He hesitated. "Come now," he said, taking my hand. "I'll find it out sooner or later."

"All right." I eyed him defiantly. He laughed.

"It seems we're at an impasse. For all our talk about the real world, I guess we're both a little reluctant to return to it just yet. But at least tell me this: why has a woman like you not been attending parties and balls all along? You're obviously educated and well bred, and someone has dressed you expensively." He looked pointedly at my ball gown.

My mind worked quickly, reviewing the official story I had agreed with Godmother to tell. I had never meant to lie to Simon, of course, but somehow telling him the awful truth seemed impossible. "I've been living in very strict seclusion," I prevericated. "Only now my Godmother has brought me to live with her for awhile, and she is bringing me out."

"I see." He eyed me thoughtfully. "And who is this godmother?"

I shook my head. "Not fair. A name for a name."

That made him laugh. "You can be stubborn, can't you? Do you not have any other family?"

"No." I said the word firmly.

"None at all?"

"Well, I had a step-mother once, but she cast me off years ago."

"Why?"

"Because I was prettier and smarter than her daughters." I put up my chin as I said it, but he nodded quite gravely.

"I can easily believe that. And then the jealous step-mother packed you off to live in the country some place, and no one's seen or heard from you since?"

"Something like that."

He appeared to consider that. "All right then." He smiled into my eyes, and my heart pounded. "Ella from the north, will you dance with me?"

"Yes, please."


	6. Chapter 6

_This is my last completed chapter at this point, so I don't know when I'll be posting again. I've got a lot of scenes written, but big holes in between. Thanks for reading!_

* * *

**Chapter Six**

Simon took me out a side door onto the lawn where couples strode back and forth, and a band played lilting waltzes. As we walked across the grass, my hand in the crook of his arm, I noticed that every person we passed seemed to know him; they all stopped, and nodded, or bowed, sometimes deeply. He just nodded to them all, quite casually, waving his hand occasionally. The crowd before us seemed to magically dissipate as we neared the dance floor.

We felt like old partners already as he took my waist and hand and whirled me onto the floor. I couldn't help but laugh, and for the first few minutes noticed very little but his strong arm and warm eyes.

After awhile, though, it slowly started to occur to me that we were being watched by an awful lot of people. In fact, every where I turned my head it seemed people were staring at us, whispering. Even our fellow dancers seemed to be all watching us, and giving us a wide berth on the floor. "Simon?" I finally asked uneasily.

"Yes?" There was laughter in his voice.

"Who _are_ you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Everyone is staring at you, that's what I mean."

"Nonsense." He turned me under his arm, and then brought me back. "You're the one they're staring at. Why, every man out there is envying me right now."

"No…." I thought of all the looks and bows we had had coming up. They had not been directed at me, I was certain. "No, it's _you_. You're trying to hoax me, but, Simon—" Even as I said the name I knew, and I gasped. His arm tightened around me.

_"Simon!"_ I repeated stupidly.

"Yes?" Again the laughter.

"You're the prince!" I said accusingly.

"Well, yes," he murmured, "but I really can't help that, you know."

"But—but—" I sputtered, my mind whirling. All this time we were dancing on, around and around the dance floor, although if it hadn't been for his arm guiding me, I'm sure I would have certainly either crashed into someone or stopped dead altogether. "But why are you dancing with _me_?" I finally came out with.

At that he laughed outright. "That, my dear girl," he said, "is obvious to absolutely every one here but yourself."

In a rather stunned silence I continued the rest of the dance with him. When at last the music halted and we stood still, I would have turned to go, but I found my hand firmly taken, and drawn through his arm. "Oh no, you don't," he murmured in my ear. And somehow he managed to retain hold of me, though people pressed around him. I didn't say much, just smiled and nodded rather mechanically, while he seemed perfectly composed. But when the music started up again, I found myself once more in his arms in the relative privacy of the dance floor.

He drew me rather close, and I glimpsed a crease between his brows as he bent his head. "Say something, Ella," he whispered in my ear.

"Why didn't you tell me?" I asked.

"Because I loved the fact that you didn't know. You should understand that," he continued quietly. "Isn't that why you went to the masque? So that no one would know who you were? It was why I went." I nodded. I did understand. "I liked you too well to let you go after that; I invited you here so that you could know the truth about me, and I could know about you." There was a pause. "And now's the time that I do need to know, Ella. Now, before this dance ends. I need to know who you are. Do you understand?"

I did understand, and that understanding both thrilled and terrified me. He was asking me about my birth—he was asking me if I was a fit consort for a prince.

Now is the time, reader, where if I had been really brave, if I had been truly altruistic, than I would have lied again—lied through my teeth, so that he would have let me go, and I and my degraded past and dishpan hands could have retired in peace. But I am afraid I lacked those qualities in sufficient measure, and almost before I realized it the word was out of my mouth. "Travers," I whispered.

"Travers?" There was a quick, eager look. "I know that name."

I nodded. "My father was the Earl of Chesney."

"Ah." He let his breath out on the word, and I saw his satisfied smile. "I should call you Lady Ella, then?"

"If you like—your highness."

He grimaced. "I suppose I was asking for that. Things will never be the same as they were, will they? But I hope you can bear it—for my sake."

There seemed nothing I could say to that. So many emotions were surging through me that there seemed no way that I could sort them all out. Pride, humiliation, excitement, panic, dread, joy all tumbled together. I liked him so much; maybe I even loved him, soon as it was. But a _prince_! What was I to do with a prince? I knew nothing of his life. Earl's daughter or no, until last week I had been a scullery maid!

Then he pulled me close again. "Dance with me, Ella," he whispered, as if pleading with me, and I could not resist him. The look in his eyes seemed to sweep everything else away, and so for awhile I managed to forget all the problems that pressed me around, and just enjoyed being in the arms of this handsome, laughing prince who somehow had chosen me.

I know that it is hugely improper for any gentleman to dance half the night with the same young woman, and for a prince to do so is near to scandalous, but Simon just simply didn't seem to care. He had evidently made up his mind that I was the one he wanted, and he didn't see any point in pretending otherwise. And I, who knew all the reasons he didn't why I wasn't as fit a partner for a future king as he thought me, played the coward that night, and refused to consider anything but the sheer joy of being with him.

It was coming on towards midnight when there was a break in the dancing, and Simon left me sitting on a bench under a tree while he went to get some refreshments. I was pointedly trying to ignore the stares directed at me when suddenly a tall, graceful figure appeared beside me, and I looked up to see my step-mother, staring at me with eyes of icy rage. Behind her, Francine lurked with Camilla.

Summoning my courage, I looked back at her as coldly as I could. But she, this woman who had terrorized my adolescence, still had a lot of power over me, and she must have known it. "Well, well," she said, in a voice as cold as an icy stream, even while her lips remained frozen in a smile, "haven't we come up in the world."

I turned my head away and tried to ignore her.

"I thought I had taught you by now that you don't belong in a place like this. But then you always were a very stupid learner."

"I am the daughter of an earl," I said, "which is more than you can say."

Her eyes closed to blue slits. "You are a run-away scullery maid. I don't know where you have been hiding, or who you stole that dress from, but I can't help but wonder what His Highness would think if he knew the truth!"

I raised my eyebrows and tried to appear haughty, though inwardly I was cringing. "The _truth_ is that I have been living with my grandmother up north—remember?"

Suddenly her latter life breeding began to fall away from her, and her voice noticeably thickened and grew more vulgar. "Now you listen to me, you little trollop, you will leave this place at once, do you understand? And you will never appear in society again, or with the prince again, because if you do—"

"Then what? You'll tell everyone that you've been lying for years? And then explain how you abused your step-daughter and made a drudge out of her? I don't think so!" I stood to my feet, trembling.

For a moment she seemed almost about to hit me, then, as quickly as it left her, her cultivated manner returned, and she controlled herself. "No," she said softly. "No, I'll tell them that the truth is that you were sent away for wanton behavior—that you were found kissing the footman—or, better yet," she advanced a step toward me, "that you were with child."

I felt myself growing pale. "You wouldn't!" I gasped.

"Oh, wouldn't I? Just you test me, my girl, and then you'll see what I'm capable of. There is nothing I wouldn't do to keep _you_ out of the arms of the Crown Prince—even going to that Prince directly—in great sorrow, out of a sense of duty, you understand—to inform him of the danger that awaits him."

"He wouldn't believe it!"

She shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not. Others will, though, certainly. Can you imagine the scandal—the future heir to the throne publically entangled with a scarlet woman?" She saw my stricken face, and nodded, well satisfied. "Leave now, and I will say nothing. Stay to dance again, and I will say all. Do not think you can frighten me! I would rather go down to ruin myself than watch you set above me." If she had been of another race, I think she would have spit in my face. Then she turned, and walked off in majestic calm, her two giggling, malicious daughters following behind.

For a moment I stood there frozen, and then I saw him coming—Simon was crossing the grass toward me. I felt panicky. By chance three people converged on him at once, and as he paused to return their greetings, I made good my escape. I slipped away into the trees, and then ran like mad back to the house. It seemed to take me forever to find Mrs. Gainswood. She was in one of the small salons, deep in conversation with a friend. She had seen nothing of what went on outside. Desperately I begged her to let me go home. I had a headache, I said—I was tired, I was hot, I didn't feel well. Anything to get her to go. She looked at me very penetratingly, but agreed.

We waited outside on the step for the carriage to be brought around. Just as it swept around the corner, I heard my name called. It was the Prince, of course. I could see him through the great doors, hurrying past clumps of people down the long hall way. He looked confused and worried, and my whole heart went out to him, but the footman hopped down to open the carriage door, and so I ran, almost stumbled down the wide marble steps. I could tell my godmother was looking at me with a very surprised expression, but I didn't care. I urged her into the carriage. As I climbed the step, I tripped in my haste, and my left slipper fell off my foot. Almost I called to the footman to retrieve it, but just then Simon came through the doors, and instead I hissed, "Quick! Shut the door! Go!"

To my dying day I will never forget the sight of him standing there, on the top step, watching us ride away, a deep frown across his brows.


	7. Chapter 7

_One more short one._

**Chapter Seven**

My godmother, fortunately, had not been in a position to see the prince; indeed, when I came tumbling into the carriage she only looked at me, an expression of great astonishment on her face. "What on earth has gotten into you?" she demanded. My only answer was to burst into tears.

I cried the whole way home—the first time I had cried in years. When at last the poor, distracted lady got me calmed down, I told her—not about the prince, but about my step-mother, and the threats she made against me. Mrs. Gainswood was livid. For several minutes all she could do was pace about the room, muttering dark invectives, but at last she grew quieter, and drew near to me again.

"There, there, child," she said, as I continued sniffling and wiping away tears. "This is my fault. I underestimated her mettle, and I pushed you into society too quickly—that much seems obvious. Perhaps you weren't ready."

Blowing my nose with one last defiant blow, I stood up. "I must leave, godmother."

"Leave? What do you mean leave?"

"You have been so kind to me, and I thank you, but I don't belong here. Not any more. I must leave—you can help me, perhaps, to find a station suitable—"

"A station!" she said sharply. "Sure you are not thinking about going back into domestic service!"

I shrugged. "It's all I know. And it's not a bad life, if one can find a good place. Or perhaps something else. There must be some employment I can do." I saw the horror in her eyes, and drew myself up. "I would do anything honest to support myself independently. I know—as an Earl's daughter I should be too proud to work, but I'm not. _She_ changed that long ago!" In one long motion I stripped off the elbow length gloves, and spread out my hands, still red and rough, the fingernails short and cracked. "Do you think I want to stay here to be humiliated?" I asked bitterly. "To be whispered about and slighted, and—and to have any friend of mine treated the same way? What man would want me, with a reputation so stained? And if—if he did, could I let him, if I—cared about him?"

Mrs. Gainswood's eyes narrowed, and she regarded me with sharp, shrewd look. "What happened tonight?" she asked.

"I told you."

"No." She shook her head. "Something else happened. Some—man?" She took a questioning step toward me. "Did you meet a man you liked, Ella? Is that why you're so distraught?"

Tears rushed back into my eyes and I shook my head. "Please don't ask me, godmother."

Her expression softened. "Very well, my dear. But as for this nonsense about your turning yourself back into a drudge, there shall be none of that! Perhaps, however…" she pursed her lips. "I think maybe we should retire to the country for a bit."

"Oh, yes!" I said eagerly. "Do you think we could?"

"I think so. I have a small house in Somerset. It was my childhood home, actually. I haven't been back since returning from the Continent—it was leased all those years, of course, but the tenant has left now, and I meant to go look it over at some point." Her gaze returned to me, and she nodded decisively. "A few weeks in the country will do us good, Ella. By the time we come back, _you_ will be much more prepared for your new life, and _I_ will have figured out how to deal with That Woman."

I, of course, had no thoughts of ever coming back again, but I did not say so to her. There was nothing I wanted less right now than to return to this city, occupied alike by enemies and unattainable loves.

Before we went to bed I extracted from her a promise that we would set out first thing in the morning, and leave instructions for no one to be told where we had gone. I pleaded fear of my step mother, but the true reason was that I had a dread of seeing Simon turn up on our door step. He knew my name now, after all. It would not be hard for him to find who I had come with.

But would he even want to come? That thought gave me even more anguish, and I lay awake for a long time thinking about him, and wondering what he thought of me now. Surely he must hate me! Leaving like that, after the unutterable privilege and favor he had conferred on me. He, the crown prince, had singled _me_ out—had danced with me, laughed with me, let me treat him as an equal. He had held my hand—in the darkness I remembered how he kept reaching for it, casually, almost automatically. He had paid me compliments, not extravagant ones, but sincere ones, and looked at me with that light in his eyes. He had ignored every other woman in the room for half an evening—while all of London society looked on. And then—I had left him. I left him without a word, without an explanation, and without any possible excuse. I saw him striding down that long great hall, heedless of the curious stares directed at him, calling to me, and how I had turned away and run from him. I buried my face in my pillow, my whole body burning with the mortification of it. How he must hate me! I had snubbed him and humiliated him in front of every one. No, he would surely never want to see me again now.

As much as I had quailed at the idea of another meeting with him, the certain conviction that he would never seek one gave me no comfort, but depressed me so much that I cried for a very long time before finally dropping wearily off as dawn sent her rays over the horizon.

We arrived at the cottage late the following evening. I use the term "cottage" very broadly; it is what Mrs. Gainswood called it, but it was actually a spreading, comfortable old house with a very pretty garden around it. It wasn't elegant or fashionable, but it was homey, and that meant more to me than anything. We had a cook and two housemaids and a man to tend the garden and carry wood—and Miss Jesson, of course. I could tell that superior lady was not accustomed to living in such unpretentious surroundings, but I was very happy to be there.

For two days I slept and sat in the garden. On the third I woke up, went down to Mrs. Gainswood, and asked to be given some kind of work to do. I had labored for my living for too long to be happy just sitting around now. She looked at me for a minute, and then recommended that I speak to Thomas, the gardener. I did, and got permission to work with him on weeding and pruning, although I could tell that he thought I was a very strange kind of young lady. I also started sewing dresses for myself (according to my own ideas of taste and propriety). I scandalized my godmother by climbing on ladders to dust portions of the house that seemed not quite clean enough to me, and even persuaded Mrs. Cranner to let me help with the cooking. I had watched feasts being prepared for many years, but Cook had never let me touch the food—that was quite above my station. Mrs. Gainswood seemed bemused by all this activity, and complained often about my extreme domestic fervor, but I think she knew that the activity did me good, and she did not try to prevent me.

I still wasn't sure exactly what I was going to do next. Whatever Mrs. Gainswood said, I was not in any way prepared for another venture into upper society. I couldn't face any of them—not my step-mother, not the people who saw me that night, and most especially not Prince Simon. Moreover, I didn't want to. I didn't want to put on more elaborate gowns, and make polite conversation, and fawn over people who had never done an honest day's work in their lives. It was obvious to me that I wasn't fit for that life any more.

But neither, I had to admit, did I want to go back to the life I had just left. I wanted more than the confines of a kitchen, more than dirty water and scorched pots. Even if I could find myself a position as an upstairs maid, I didn't know if I would take it. It wasn't the work that I minded so much, though that could be grueling. It was… I tried to figure out just what it was, even as I methodically rubbed in the hand cream I had been ordered to use. It was just the degradation of it all, I supposed. The subservience and nothingness of what it meant to be a servant. I had danced with a prince now. Could I submit, again, to be the lowest of the low?

I almost wished that Mrs. Gainswood had never found me, that I could have remained in my comparative contentment and ignorance, working towards my modest goals. Now I was destined to be useless—to be a burden on Mrs. Gainswood, too fine for work and too rough for anything else.

There was a good sized town only about a mile's walk from the cottage, and I took to walking there often, almost daily. My godmother felt for some reason that I required pin money, and it pleased her to see me spend some of it (although I saved most), so I would take a basket and visit all the shops, buying a bit of ribbon or some buttons or a book. Sometimes I would purchase a batch of sweet buns from the baker and hand them out to the children who always loitered around the streets. I usually earned myself a few disapproving looks from some of the more well-to-do citizens, but I did not care. Seeing those children reminded me, however hard some parts of my life were, I had not truly suffered. I always had food to eat and clothes to wear, and a place to sleep at night.

I made friends with as many of the shopkeepers and their assistants as I could, hoping that if a position should come open, one of them mind look kindly on me for it. I had just about decided that shop work might be just the thing for me—neither too high nor too low. There must be someone would like a smart, well-spoken girl who could do figures and write with a neat hand.

Thus I tried to occupy myself with hopeful plans, but inwardly I felt despairing. I missed Simon, missed his eyes and his laugh, and the feel of his hand clasping mine. I missed the way he made me feel, and felt that one sweet, exquisite, painful glimpse of things that could have been would haunt me forever. I told myself a thousand times that we had met only twice, I that I couldn't love someone I'd known so little, and that we never really knew each at all, but that did not keep my heart from mourning.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

We had been at the cottage about three weeks when my godmother left for the day to visit a friend who lived on a nearby estate. She had asked me if I would like to come with her, but I had stubbornly refused, feeling guilty all the time. Yet, if I was to go into shop work, it would be better for Mrs. Gainswood if no one knew of our association.

It was a gray, oppressive day, I was even more restless than usual. I had meant only to walk in the garden, but somehow found myself opening the gate and wandering further and further, crossing meadows and fields and fences, climbing to the top of the hill. At some point it began to drizzle, and then to rain, until I finally sought refuge beneath a hospitable tree. I sat there for a long time, watching the sheets of rain come down, my back pressed to the comforting trunk, caring not for the drops that fell on me.

I think I dozed off; when I came to myself the rain had stopped and I began tramping my way back through the fields to the house. I was soaked and muddied, but I didn't care; it suited my dismal mood. Over the hill not far from me a horseman came suddenly into view, but I just lowered my head and walked on. In a moment, the horse was reigned in, and a familiar figure swung down from the saddle.

"Ella!" He strode quickly toward me.

I gaped at him in astonishment. "Your highness!" I gasped. "W—What are you doing here?" A crazy irrepressible joy warred with horror, and chagrin at my appearance. I curled my hands, and put them behind me.

"What am I doing here?" He grasped my shoulders. "I'm looking for you, of course! And a dashed hard time of it I've had too."

"B-but, I don't understand," I stuttered.

"Why did you run from me?" he demanded. "First at the ball, and then to here?" His eyes scanned my face. "Did something happen? Did someone hurt you, or scare you? Or—was it because I'm a king's son?" I stared back at him, and he released me. "It was, wasn't it? Did it really terrify you so much?"

"Terrify me?" Suddenly and agonizingly aware of my dripping, disheveled appearance, I retreated a few paces. "Of course it terrified me! When I thought you were just a soldier—" I stopped, unable to continue that thought. "You're the _prince_! You're going to be _king_ some day. I'm not—I'm not fit for you, Simon!"

"Not fit?" He stared at me. "What on earth do you mean?"

"I'm—I'm bad luck, that's what!" I said the words bitterly and with passion, tears starting to my eyes. "All my life I've had misfortune and harm, and it'll come to you too, if you pursue me!" I knew I wasn't making sense, but I couldn't help it. "You don't want me, I tell you! You'll wish you never met me!"

Simon came forward and seized me above my elbows. "Stop it!" he said through his teeth. "Stop talking such nonsense before I shake you! What's happened to you? Where's that girl I danced with at the ball, the one who laughed with me, the one talked with me? That's the one I want!"

I wrenched myself out of his grip and retreated further. "Why do you want me, Simon? Is it because I'm _pretty_?" I flung the word at him. "Or because you think I've got the right birth and breeding for it? Well you don't know anything about me!"

"No!" he almost shouted. His hazel eyes looked a blazing gold, his mouth drawn tight in a grim, exasperated line. "Not because you're _pretty_!" He flung the word back. "It's not even because you're beautiful, so beautiful that even wet and muddy you take my breath away. And it's not your birth and so called breeding. I can get those anywhere." He managed to reach me again, and caught me around the waist. "It's _you_, Ella. It's _you_ I want. Mind and spirit and sweetness. Flesh and blood and heart." He was drawing me toward him now, his voice dropping, and I knew he was going to kiss me. I wanted it so desperately I closed my eyes, but my hands were still clasped behind my back, and it was they that recalled me to my senses. At the last second I pushed him away.

For a long moment he stood still; I could not look at him. Then he said in an even voice, "Very well. You've made your point clear." He turned toward his horse. "Come."

I blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"You're soaked, Ella. I'm taking you home." He grasped the reigns and looked at me pointedly.

"No!"

I saw his mouth tighten again. "I'm not going to try to kiss you again, if that's what you're worried about. But neither am I going to leave you here in that state." He extended a hand toward me.

"B—but I'm wet. I'll make you wet."

"Do you really think I care about that?" Still I hesitated, and he sighed impatiently. "Take my hand or I'll pick you up and put you on the horse myself."

I took his hand. He led me to his horse, helped me up, then mounted behind me. I perched precariously on the saddle horn, trying to sit up straight as his strong arm circled my waist and pulled me back against him. With his other hand he gathered the reigns, and guided the horse. We didn't talk the whole ride back, while I learned against his chest. I could hear his heart beat and feel his breath blow softly across my damp hair. Insensibly, both my hands stole to the muscular arm that encircled me, and gripped it.

When we reached the house, I made to scramble down, but he was faster than I. "I am coming in," he said in an uncompromisingly tone, as he helped me down. I nodded, and fled inside, and up the stairs.

In my room, I dried off, put on the plainest morning dress I had and as my hair was too damp to be put up, just combed it out and left it. Each time the prince had seen me thus far, I had been dressed like a princess. Not this time. Although they were incongruous, I also put on gloves.

It was not long before I entered the parlor. Simon was there, gazing out the window, but he did not turn around. "If you'd care for some tea, your Highness," I began hesitantly.

"Don't, Ella," he cut me off, his voice almost flat. "Don't retreat to formalities. We're past that by now, don't you think?"

I had nothing to say.

He gave a small, impatient jerk of his shoulders. "I wish you would at least explain things to me. I know—I know I don't have the right to any special consideration from you, but at least I would expect _common_ consideration."

I flushed miserably and stared at the floor.

"Well? Why don't you answer? You were quick enough to speak when—" he broke off. I looked up and found that had turned around and was staring at me.

"What?" I asked uncertainly.

Something like a short laugh dragged from him, and he turned rather hastily back toward the window. "Nothing," he said. "Only—women have some weapons that are not quite fair."

I did not understand him, and so ignored that speech, coming forward rather hesitantly. "Sir—Simon," I corrected myself hastily as his head jerked around, "You are right. I should apologize to you. I was—terribly rude, both at the ball, and just now, in the field. You—you have shown me much more forbearance than I deserve, and—and I deeply regret any pain I caused you." My tongue stumbled over the words, but I got them out and stood watching him wistfully. What was going on inside him I could not tell from the profile he presented me, but I thought some of the tenseness went out of him.

At length he turned, reaching into pocket. "I brought you something," he said. His hand came back out with an object that winked and glittered in the sunshine, and set it on the table before me.

"My mother's slipper," I said, picking it up. "Thank you—thank you very much."

His mouth twisted. "Do you think I want your thanks?" There was nothing I could say to that, of course, and he turned again, this time to pace around the room. I hated to see him so hurt and longed desperately to throw myself into his arms but how could I? He did not yet know the truth.

"Prince Simon," I began, trying uselessly to rally against the tears gathering in my eyes, "you barely know me."

"Evidently," he answered drily.

"It was all a mistake," I went on doggedly. "We should never have met that way. It was foolish. And even more foolish to—to think it meant anything. After all, this is only the third time we have ever met! The first time we both wore masks and were trying to avoid who we really were. The second—well, that was a dream—" I smiled a painful smile, "and dreams don't last, remember?"

There was a long silence. "Strange, I never thought the fact of my being royalty would lose me the woman I wanted," he said bitterly.

I could not give in. I could not give him what he wanted, for he wanted a woman I wasn't. "Your highness—Simon—you don't know what you're saying. You don't know me, I tell you! I'm not fit for you." He didn't answer. "You should not have come," I said slowly, turning away. "I hope you can accept that—and—and forgive me." My chest felt tight and my breathing difficult. It hurt so much to go off and leave him there, but I did, and went upstairs. A few minutes later I heard the door shut and he rode away on his horse. Then I cried for a long time.

When Mrs. Gainswood arrived home she immediately heard the story from the housekeeper of how Miss went out walking in the rain and then this fine young gentleman came looking for her and brought her home but did not stay long. I was not surprised to hear her knock on my door.

I let her in reluctantly. She cast a shrewd glance over me. "Well, better tell me the whole of it," she said.

I told her everything but Simon's identity. What she would do if she knew that, I feared to think. When I was done she shook her head. "He must care very much for you to follow you all the way out here, Ella. A captain, you said?"

"Colonel."

"Even better! Does he come from a good family, do you know?"

I nodded dumbly.

"Well, it would not be a brilliant match, my dear, but I daresay you don't care about that."

"Godmother! No! You misunderstood."

"No I didn't," she answered placidly. "But I can read more than just your words, you know. If you didn't like him just as much as he likes you, you wouldn't have cried your eyes out over him."

I blushed. "But my stepmother."

"Oh, I shouldn't think she'd make trouble over a mere colonel in the army. She's not that big a fool."

"Well it doesn't matter anyway because he's gone. He's not coming back."

"Isn't he?" she raised an eyebrow at me and smiled slyly. "We'll see."


	9. Chapter 9

_My sincerest apologies for making you wait so long. This is why I don't usually post WIPs. I tried to make up for it with a long (for this story) chapter, and should be able to have the next chapter up in another day or two._

* * *

**Chapter Nine**

We heard the next day from the housekeeper that the Crown Prince had been seen in the area with a group of companions, and the day after that, that they were occupying some nobleman's hunting lodge a few miles away. Mrs. Gainswood looked significantly at me, and for a moment I feared that she had guessed the truth, but her expression was not astonished enough. I finally concluded that she must believe my colonel to be attached to the Prince's entourage in some fashion.

Simon did not come again. I did not expect him to, was relieved he didn't, and yet bitterly disappointed too. It gave me no satisfaction to think of the brilliant suitor that I had turned away.

Now that he was here, I began to think of getting further away. If only my godmother would write me a recommendation I was certain that I could find work nearly anywhere, but I knew she would oppose the idea. I could not leave her, not yet, when she was so kind and so affectionate, but I did not know how much longer I could remain here in this uncertain existence, either.

It had been four days since I saw him last when I went into town, and there he was. He was sitting astride his horse in the middle of the street, with another mounted gentleman on each side. All three looked very handsome, very wealthy, very sure of themselves and their places in the world. One of them was speaking into Simon's ear when I first saw them, and Simon smiled and replied. Up and down the sidewalks, people stood staring and bowing, and he nodded casually in reply. This was the prince—not _my_ Simon, with whom I had talked and danced, but His Royal Highness, and I felt the distinction keenly.

I saw what they had been waiting for when a fourth man immerged from a shop and climbed back on his mount. The four of them nudged their horses into a walk, and a sort of processional line formed itself in front of them as everyone made haste to bow or curtsy. They were coming my direction; I tried to retreat, but somehow found myself pushed forward to the front. I curtsied with the others and kept my head down, yet glancing upward, unable to help myself.

As they began to pass it seemed like one of the men noticed me; he leaned forward and spoke to the prince, subtly indicating me. Then the prince looked too, and for a long moment our eyes met. His expression did not change; he answered, not loudly, but I thought I heard the word _mistaken _as they passed.

_Yes, your Highness_, I thought, _you were mistaken_.

The next chance I got, I asked to speak privately to Mrs. Gainswood. "You've been so kind to me," I told her. "I can never repay everything that you've done for me. But I can't stay here with you forever."

"Why ever not? My children are in Vienna still; they have their own lives. I have no one else to take care of, or to take care of me."

I blinked back tears. "I can't be what you want me to be."

My godmother took my hands in hers. "My dear girl, I wish for you to be happy, nothing more." She waited until I could meet her eyes. "I know that you are unhappy and confused, but please, make no decisions now. It is too soon—you are not ready yet." I opened my mouth to make some protest, but she took my chin in her hand. "Promise me, Ella! Promise me that you will not leave me yet."

Too moved to speak, I could only nod.

I had to put away thoughts of seeking employment after that. I busied myself in the garden and around the house and running errands, and tried to be content. I did ask about it once, though, when I was chatting with Lucy, the girl who worked in the general store. She was very competent and very friendly and I could not help but ask her one day, "Lucy, do you like working here?"

"Yes, I like it," she answered immediately. "It's one of the best jobs in town."

"Do you think I could do a job like this one day?"

Her eyes opened very wide. "You, miss?"

"Yes, me."

"You're too fine a lady for such a place as this, miss."

I frowned. "I'm not as fine as you think me, and I do know what hard work is. I would do a good job."

"I'm sure you would, miss, but…" she trailed off.

"No, you must tell me, please. Don't you think anyone would hire me?"

"I don't think they would believe you meant it seriously. You don't… forgive me, but you don't look the part, Miss Ella."

"If it's my gown you mean, I could change that."

"No." She shook her head. "It's not the gown. It's—" she gestured, "—you."

I'm not sure what she meant by that, but I walked home disgruntled. I had passed for a scullery maid for years. What did she mean I couldn't pass for a shop girl? I could be a very good shop girl.

~%~

The prince was still in the area, from what I heard. There was some talk of hunting parties, and I even saw one dash by in the distance, horns sounding and dogs baying. I wondered if there were any women in the group, and who they were. I had learned to ride when I was young, but it was many years since I had sat on a horse… well, without a man behind me, that is.

And then it started raining again, and rained and rained, as if the heavens themselves sympathized with my plight. I thought morosely that no one could hunt in this weather, and so surely the prince would be going home soon. He would forget me much sooner than I would forget him, of course. Oh, why did I ever have to meet him? I could have been happy—despite everything, I could have been happy, if it hadn't been for him.

Godmother went off visiting again, and there was a half day off for the staff. The house was empty and too quiet, and outside the skies had actually cleared, so I went walking again. I had no direction; just meandered aimlessly until I finally found myself standing on the edge of a large embankment, gazing at sky above and trees below. I was alone, alone and standing in the sunshine after years of living in cramped quarters and working in an ill-lit kitchen. I stretched my back, remembering… no more bending over a sink for hours, or wearing my knees out on a stone floor. The beauty of the day began to lift my spirits; I felt more cheerful and hopeful than I had in weeks. My discontent seemed absurd, really—what did I have to complain about? I had comfort and respect and affection, things I had been deprived of most of my life. My future, though uncertain, would be good.

Filled with sudden buoyancy, I reached my arms up and spun in a circle, then began to run. My spirits lifted higher and I ran faster, laughing aloud. I was running along the edge of the embankment but, giddy with my newfound spirits, I didn't watch where I put my feet very well, and before I knew it I stepped down too hard, twisted my ankle, and the ground gave way beneath me.

~%~

Although I didn't actually lose consciousness, I was too dazed at first to realize what had happened. It was, perhaps, predictable, after all the rains we had had—it was simply that the earth was too soft, and the underside of the bank eroded. I hadn't fallen down a cliff or anything, just slid painfully over rocks down several yards of steep slope. I sat up gingerly, and gritted my teeth. I was quite certain that my back was torn up; it was a sensation I was all too familiar with. My legs still worked, though, and my ankle didn't appear to be more than a little twisted. After sitting until my head no longer swam, I climbed to my feet, and began to walk slowly back to the house. Not that there would be anyone there, I knew, but at least I could lay down. Maybe I could manage to take my dress off and bathe my wounds myself.

I had only gone a few steps when a horse appeared. I recognized the man riding it immediately, but was too dazed for surprise this time. Instead I just walked dully on, making sure not to limp.

"This seems to be becoming a habit of ours," said a dry voice, as the horse drew up. Then, sharply, as I looked up wearily—"Ella? What's happened?" He swung down and reached for my shoulders, to offer me support, I'm sure, but unhappily the fingers of one hand landed on a raw spot, and I gave a small, involuntary cry. Smothering an exclamation he looked over my shoulder, and I saw his mouth grow grim. "What happened?"

I told him. He sighed, but spoke and touched me very gently. "Do you think you could get on my horse, if I helped you?"

"I don't—" I began, but he cut me off.

"Want my help. I know. You've made that very clear. But I've got to give it to you anyway. Now can you get on my horse?"

I gave in, and he helped me up, and led the horse back to the house. I thought of how he had taken me up before him last time—but of course there was no question of that, now. With great care he helped me down, and took me inside. "Where's the house keeper?"

"Out," I said wearily. "They're all out. But there's a doctor in town."

He laid his hat and gloves on the table, and took off his riding cloak. "Which way is the kitchen?"

"Back there, down that passage way." I answered automatically.

"You, sit down." He placed me on the edge of a settee. "You wouldn't happen to know where there may be bandages kept in the house?" I told him. "Now try not to faint before I get back."

"I am not going to faint!" I said indignantly as he left the room.

He was gone for some minutes and I began belatedly to wonder what he was planning. When he reappeared, it was with a laden tray. He set it down on a table, and drew it up close. The first thing he offered me was a glass of wine. "Drink this."

I shook my head. "I don't like wine."

He sighed and set it down. "Water, then?"

I nodded, and he gave me some. He certainly came prepared. I sipped at it, and watched him begin to arrange bowls and bandages, when it suddenly occurred to me that he meant to treat my wounds himself. "There's a doctor in town," I said in protest. "It's not far—wouldn't it be better for you to fetch him?"

"I'm not going to leave you alone here like that while I find someone else to do what I can very well do myself," he answered calmly. "You can't fight in a war without learning how to care for minor wounds. Now." He nodded at the settee. "Lay down on your stomach."

All my feelings revolted against the idea of being handled and seen by him in such a way. I stiffened. He gave an involuntary laugh. "You don't give an inch, do you? What are you afraid of? That I'll take advantage of you?"

"No, of course not! But I still think—"

"If you continue to fight me," he continued on with determination, "then I shall have to order you in a way that I really don't want to, and you will have to obey. I am still, after all, your prince. Now lay down, you stubborn woman!"

I gave in, and stretched myself gingerly out on the settee, burying my face in a soft cushion, and trying not to cry. I felt his fingers gently stripping away the torn fabric from across my back, with the occasional snip of the scissors. "It's bad," he said quietly, "but not too bad. It must hurt like the dickens, though." I didn't answer him. "I'm going to have clean it now. I'm afraid it won't be very comfortable for you." He picked up a bowl, and some rags. I closed my eyes, and pressed my lips together while the cold water and gentle pressure stung at my wounds. "Good girl," he said. I didn't tell him that I had endured much worse pain than this many times.

Perhaps to distract my mind—especially as there were some bits of rock and dirt that had to be meticulously extracted, he began to talk as he worked. He spoke calmly, almost pensively.

"I went to your godmother's house as soon as I could get away the next day, you know," he began. "I was angry at you, but I was anxious, too. I was afraid something terrible must have happened to make you run like that. I told myself a hundred tales about what might have befallen you—a sudden sickness, the death of a friend, maybe even an accident of some sort, or something someone said to you to make you panic." I bit my lip. "But I couldn't rid myself of the unhappy suspicion that it was really me that you were running away from. Me, or my title." He rinsed the blood-stained cloth in the bowl, and wrung it out. "Of course you were gone by then, with no word of your whereabouts. Then I guess I was really furious, for a few days, at least. But I still wanted to find you, so I asked a friend to help me. It was over a week before he got word that your godmother Mrs. Gainswood owned property out here, and heard a rumor that she might be there. As soon as I could get away, I came." There was a long pause. "I don't know why I keep coming back to you," he said very quietly, "but I can't seem to help it."

He applied a dry cloth, removing the last of the water and blood. "All right, everything's clean. Next is—" he broke off abruptly, and there was a long silence. Turning my head I stole a glance up at him, and was startled to see that he had drawn back a little, as if in shock, and his face was pale, his jaw set. Just I was about to ask him what was wrong, though, he moved forward and resumed his work. "I'll put the bandages on now." He spoke in the same even voice as before, but I thought that I heard tension behind it.

I frowned as he laid the strips of cloth across my back, trying to understand what had just happened. Then all at once it hit me. He had seen my scars. The long, thin, pale scars that crisscrossed my back innumerable times, from the many savage beatings my step-mother had given me. Mary my roommate had asked me about them once, and I told her that I had been raised by my uncle, who beat me. It wasn't really far from the truth.

With Simon's discovery of this painful evidence, I knew that all concealment was over. I was tired of lying, any way. I couldn't imagine any result of telling him the truth that would be worse than the current state of affairs—and he deserved to know.

I closed my eyes now, and a few tears ran out of the corners onto the cushion. Simon finished off his handiwork by fixing it with sticking plaster. "I don't know how well that will hold if you try to stand up," he said, "So I'm afraid you're going to have stay as you are for awhile." In a final act of kindness, he retrieved a shawl I had left hanging over a chair, and draped it across my back to cover the bare skin and bandages. "Are you comfortable?"

"As comfortable as possible, I suppose," I answered dully.

He stood up, and washed his hands. I waited. He walked to the window and stared out. I waited some more. "And now," he said finally, in a carefully controlled voice, "perhaps you will tell me who it was who beat you like that."


	10. Chapter 10

_Sorry, again-these last couple of days have been really crazy for me. This chapter is a bit short, but I trust the content will make up for it. I appreciate and love all your comments and promise to try to reply to them this time._

* * *

**Chapter Ten**

I swallowed, "My step-mother."

He cursed, softly. "Why?"

"Because I wouldn't obey her."

"Obey her? Obey her in what?"

"In becoming what she wanted me to become," I whispered. "She won in the end, though." And so finally, lying there on the couch, I told him the whole truth—the whole, ugly, degrading truth, while tears ran quietly down my cheeks, and he stood there, staring sightlessly out the window as if he couldn't bear to look at me, his whole body taut.

There was a long silence when I finished. I wondered what he was thinking, if he would ever say anything. After several minutes I couldn't take it any longer. Determined to face him, I tried to struggle into a sitting position, letting out a small involuntary groan in the process.

He turned immediately. "Ella, what are you doing? You shouldn't be sitting up."

I wrapped the shawl firmly around my shoulders. "Yes I should. I must." I saw he was coming toward me, and held out my hands, spreading them out before him. He took them with a surprised look, and I shook my head at him. "Those are not the hands of a princess, Prince Simon."

He frowned, and looked down at them. In the last few weeks of careful treatment, their redness had begun to fade, but still there was no mistaking their hard calluses. I saw his eyebrows rise slightly, and then, one at a time, he spread them open, gently touching the rough spots, caressing them. For the first time I noticed that his hands, too, bore calluses. Then, to my amazement, he bent his head, and kissed the palms. The touch of his lips tingled on my skin.

"Oh, Ella," he said finally, "why didn't you just tell me?"

Hope was rising in my breast now. I gave him a wavering smile. "Because I was ashamed."

"_You_ have nothing to be ashamed of. What you have endured…" he turned his face away for a moment. Then he sat down next to me, still holding my hands. "It's a lot to think about," he admitted, "but it doesn't change who you are—who you were born as, who you can be now."

"It does change it," I insisted. "It changes everything, can't you see that?"

"No. No, I cannot let you go so easily. Your calluses," he ran his thumb over them, "will disappear."

"But my scars will not."

"Neither will mine."

"But your scars are from battle. They are honorable. Mine are from…" I swallowed. "Mine are from humiliation. There is no honor in humiliation, your highness."

I could see the expressions moving across his face but could not interpret them. Still he clung to my hands. "What really happened at the ball that night. Was it your step-mother?"

I nodded. "She threatened to spread… terrible rumors about me. The kind of rumors that ruin people."

"And your reputation was so valuable to you?"

"To me?" I looked at him defensively. "No, what did I care about my reputation? I never had one, any way. I was a servant. But….we had been seen together… the scandal…."

"Ah!" His eyebrows went up, and his eyes grew warm and bright. "So you were really just trying to protect me?"

"Some… something like that."

He reached out a hand to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, and I suddenly remembered how disheveled and dirty I must look. "Did it every occur to you," he asked in something very like a tender tone of voice, "that as the prince, I could scotch all such rumors before they even started—that if you had told me of her threats, I could have ended them… for good?"

I shook my head, rather mesmerized by his gaze. "I… panicked," I said lamely. "And—I was afraid to tell you the truth."

"Tell me something." He stood up, and took a few quick steps around the room. "If I had been just Simon the soldier, as you thought I was in the beginning, would you have told me the truth about yourself before now?"

I considered that. "Maybe. I never meant to lie to you at all, but then when it came to it… it seemed I couldn't say it. Then when I found out you were the prince, I just didn't know _what_ I should do."

"You didn't seem too unhappy about it at first," he said softly.

I blushed, remembering. "I couldn't help myself. You wanted…you wanted to dance with _me_."

He smiled. "Yes. Yes, I did."

"It was just like a fairytale, for that little while. But then Lady Chesney came and… and I know what she's capable of. I knew she wouldn't hesitate to carry out all of her threats."

"You don't need to worry about her." He spoke firmly. "I pledge you my word, Ella. No matter what happens between us, she will never disturb you again."

I looked at him, and believed him. Yet strangely, the lifting of the greatest tyranny of my life did not affect me very much in that moment. I was too absorbed, too entirely taken up, with the man before me. "You are a good man, Prince Simon," I told him, "but I do not know if I can be what you want me to be."

"I want you to be yourself."

"A scullery maid?" I looked at him steadily and would not back down. His eyes fell. "A woman who until few weeks ago scrubbed pots and floors and took her directions from a cook?"

"You may have done that, but it's not what you are."

"Then what am I? _I_ hardly know. I do know that I'm not ready for your life. I've barely begun to find my own."

"Then I'll help you." He sat beside me and took my hand again. "I don't have any responsibilities at court for a few months; my father thought I should take some time and just be 'young and irresponsible' for a while before settling into it again. You were right when you said we scarcely know each other—that was what I came back here today to tell you. I hoped we could begin again, and this time do it properly."

I was so full of hope I could scarcely breathe, but confused too. "You looked away from me in the street."

"I did not want to subject you to attention you would not want."

"And your fine friends? What will they think of it?"

"I neither know nor care. It is not their concern."

"But it is your father's. You cannot even marry without his consent, I know the law."

"Your birth is good. You're beautiful and intelligent and lady-like. I will convince him, when the time comes. _If_ the time comes." He smiled just a little.

I looked at him again and this time I knew that I loved him very much. How many men—let alone princes—would have taken the treatment I had given him and still come back? How many would have shown such gentleness and understanding? I knew of none. More than anything in the world I wanted to put my arms around his neck and kiss him, but of course I did not. It was too soon, my emotions were too raw, the future too murky.

"Why do you want me?" I asked him. "Why me, when you could have any woman?"

"Because you're not any woman," he said, and stood up. "When is your housekeeper due back?"

"Soon, I should think."

"Then it would be better if we were not found alone together. I will help you upstairs to your room, and have a message taken to the doctor in town."

"No, please don't. Mrs. Gainswood will send for him, if it seems necessary."

He looked at me penetratingly. "Very well."

He gave me his arm to lean on as I stood and we made our slow way the stairs. At the doorway to my bedchamber he seemed to hesitate. "I can lay down without assistance," I assured him.

"I don't like to leave you here like this."

"I will be well. Truly, I can care for myself. I've done it many times before."

He frowned and looked pained at this reminder. "How long do you expect to remain here in the country?"

"I am at my godmother's disposal, but she has no immediate plans to leave that I have heard. She probably stays for my sake."

He nodded. "I will… I will return when I can."

"I will be here," I whispered, and, as he turned away, because I couldn't help it, I caught his hand and pressed it to my lips. I held it there fiercely, and shut my eyes, more tears trickling onto his skin. Then I felt his other hand in my hair, and he stepped closer and bent until our foreheads touched. I don't know how long I stood there, holding his hand as if it were all my hope of happiness, shaking from the effects of shock and emotion, but eventually I became aware of the gentle, soothing stroke of his fingers through my hair, and his deep and rather ragged breathing. My back screamed in pain as I straightened it, and he must have seen me grimace, because he drew back and opened my door. "Rest, Ella," he said in a voice that was calm and firm, but I thought I glimpsed a wet shine in his eyes before he turned and walked away again.

* * *

_And that, ladies and gentlemen, is all I got. If you have any suggestions on what should come next, please give them. Plot ideas generally come very slowly to me._


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

It was much easier to explain how I came to injure myself than I how I came to be bandaged. I tried to look haughty when Mrs. Perch questioned me and although I don't think I succeeded she did eventually leave me alone. Mrs. Gainswood, it needs no saying, was another matter.

I always intended to tell her the whole truth, but certain aspects of the story were a little difficult to get out. Primarily, the identity of my suitor stuck in my throat every time I got close to saying it. It just sounded so incredible; how could she believe it? I could scarcely believe it myself.

"Are you happy?" she asked me.

"I'm very happy—but I'm terrified too."

She patted my hand. "Love can often seem terrifying at first."

I colored. "No, it's not just that, it's…" I sighed. I was laying mostly on my stomach again, and it was easy to stare at the edge of my pillow or the line of the mattress. "His life is so different from mine."

"Do you mean the life of a soldier?"

"No. He's—he's left active service, I think. But his family is… important. Very important. He'll have... he'll have a title someday."

She stroked my hair. "You have a title too, Ella."

I buried my face a little deeper. "It's only a courtesy title. It doesn't mean anything, not really. His title means everything."

"Everything?" Her voice sounded amused.

I nodded, still not looking at her.

A moment's silence, then her voice suddenly sharpened with comprehension. "What title do you mean?"

I didn't say anything.

"Ella, what title will your young man have someday?"

At last I whispered, "King."

The silence this time was longer, filled with startled energy. I could feel her sitting very still beside me. Finally she breathed deeply—"Oh, _Ella_." Then she made me tell it all again from the beginning, but with more details this time. Although she asked a lot of questions she didn't blame or criticize, for which I will always be grateful. When it was over she sat thoughtfully for some minutes. "Well, we must get you a doctor," was her surprising next statement.

"Do I really need one?" I asked.

She looked at me like I was mad. "Your cruel step-mother may have left you to heal on your own, but I am not she."

"No, of course, I didn't mean—"

"Ordinary people call a doctor when they are injured, Ella, and I am not going to let my goddaughter receive less than the care she deserves. Especially now, it is of the utmost importance that you heal well."

_Especially now?_ I was leery of what she meant by that, but was too grateful to question her. The doctor was duly summoned and he removed Simon's bandages and applied new ones on top of his special salve, and left behind medicines for pain and to help me sleep. Godmother stayed with me throughout, and I saw her eyebrows rise as she realized just how much of my back Simon had actually seen. I couldn't help but blush, even as I winced. If the doctor noticed my scars, he said nothing about them.

I remained in bed for the rest of that day, and although it was difficult to think of anything but the prince, the doctor's sleeping draught insured that I slept long and deeply. When I woke I was stiff and sore, but it was not too bad, and I was eager to be up.

Mrs. Jesson appeared to dress me, and I knew my godmother was as anxious as I was to be sure that I appeared to the best advantage when Simon appeared. She put me into one of the softest and prettiest gowns I had ever seen, and brushed my hair. I found it interesting that she left it mostly loose; looking at my reflection, I suddenly remembered Simon's comment about weapons that weren't fair, and smiled.

I walked carefully downstairs where Mrs. Jesson, my godmother and both housemaids helped to arrange me on a chaise with many pillows behind me. Every curl was fussed over, just the right amount of sunshine was let to shine from the window onto my face, and everyone waited expectantly for my suitor to arrive.

He did not come.

Mrs. Gainswood, to my surprise, looked rather secretly pleased. She sent Jenny over to the village to ask around; she came back with news that the prince had reportedly left with one companion that morning, although he was expected to return in a few days, and Mrs. Gainswood looked even more pleased. I could not understand it, and it made me a little cross with her. She just looked amused.

"My dear," she said, "I will bet you anything that he has gone to deal with your stepmother."

I blinked. "Do you really think so? Could he—would he so soon?"

"The young prince is a man of action, everyone knows that. He went into battle, though he did not need to; he followed you here, and sought you out not only once but twice." She smiled slyly. "He tended your wounds. Yes, I feel quite certain that our dear Lady Chesney will soon have an unpleasant surprise."

I knew it was possible she was correct, maybe even probable. I could think of another reason he might go to town—if indeed his going had anything to do with me. He may have decided to seek his father's permission now rather than later; it would be wisest, after all. Both theories were reason enough for anxiety, and I could not help the part of me that feared he had merely changed his mind, that, upon reflection, he decided I was simply too unsuitable after all. My comfort in that was that I did not believe it to be in his character to leave without telling me so, if that was the case. He had given me very specific expectations—surely his honor would require him to explain himself, rather than merely leaving.

Nevertheless, I found myself growing increasingly morose as the hours went by. I hated having to just wait and wait, without knowing. I hated sitting around the house with nothing to do. At least when I had been a servant I accomplished something each day. Here I was utterly useless.

A day or two later Mrs. Gainswood came into the parlor to find me standing on a chair, dusting the wall sconces. They had not seemed quite clean to me and, itching for something to do, I had found a rag and set to work. It was not the first time I had done something like that and she had never commented on it before, but this time she drew up short, her brows contracting in a disapproving frown.

"What do you think you're doing?" she asked sharply.

I was so surprised I almost fell off my chair. "I'm dusting a little, that's all."

"That's not your job."

"They just seemed—"

"We have two housemaids. If you saw something that needed attention, you should have called one of them to attend to it."

"But I don't mind." I was really puzzled at her attitude. "I used to do much harder work, you know that. It's probably just as well that I stay in practice, in case—"

I had climbed off the chair by now, and she walked forward and seized me by the shoulders. For such a small woman, her grip was surprisingly strong. "Now you listen to me, Ella," she said with a sternness I didn't know she possessed. "You are never, ever going to work as a servant again, do you understand me? Or a shop girl, or a companion, or any of that. That part of your life should never have happened and now it is over, and you must try to forget it—or if you can't forget it, leave it behind. There is a _prince_," she went on, "who intends to make you his consort, and you must learn how to behave in a way that befits him! Do you think the servants at the palace will love you or despise you, if they find you doing their work for them? I'll tell you—they'll despise you! They'll think you no better than themselves, and wonder why they should serve you. Their contempt will become known to other servants, and soon their masters and mistresses will begin to regard you in the same way. Is that what you wish?"

My mouth opened and closed at least twice before I managed to squeak, "No."

"Then you must begin to act like the lady that you are." She gave my shoulders a last squeeze. "Be the woman that he needs you to be, Ella!"

"I don't know if I can."

"Of course you can. Think back before those years began—you had a governess, you were educated, and well-bred. Remember that time. You're an intelligent woman, Ella, very intelligent and very strong. You were dealt a poor hand when you were young, but you took it and made the best of it and didn't let it destroy you. Now you have a different challenge, and it may be even harder, but you can do it, and you _will_ do it, because he—that man who came for you, who tended you, and who is even now off fighting your battles for you—he deserves it."

She stepped back, patted her hair, and walked calmly away. I was left reeling and knowing, of course, that she was right. It was foolish of me to continue acting as I had, always planning for a future in service again. And it was selfish of me; I had been so wrapped up in my own concerns, in the shame of my past and the fear of the future that I had not been considering what Simon wanted, what Simon needed and deserved. I smiled rather crookedly; really, he deserved far better than me, but he wanted me, and wanting me, needed me to be worthy of him. After all, he had done so much for me in the time we had known each other, regardless of his reason for going away, and I—what I had I done for him? I knew the answer: nothing. I had done nothing.

That very afternoon I asked Mrs. Gainswood to help me, to begin to teach me things I had forgotten or never learned, and provide me any instruction she could. And from that time I began to work—to regain the years I had lost and acquire the skills I would need at court (should such a time come). In finding work, I became cheerful again, and set my heart to believing that the man who had pursued me this far would come again soon.


	12. Chapter 12

_I am so sorry for the very long delay in this story! I had too many projects going at once and had to drop this one to concentrate on finishing others, and then I got busy with other stuff. I can't promise you a regular posting schedule, but I do have quite a bit more than this written, and will post as soon as I can get chapters finished._

**Chapter 12**

On the sixth morning, Prince Simon returned. I was sitting on the verandah amidst several pillows, struggling my way through a book on court etiquette. I liked to read, but this book was full of details such as when the oldest son of a duke took precedence over a marquis, and after the first few pages it all seemed to swim together. I had just about given up when the door opened, and out came my godmother, with the prince behind her.

I never saw him but I was struck again with how handsome he was, and when I looked at him that day I could not even think for the breadth of his shoulders and the beauty of his eyes. I was so happy to see him, so entirely happy and relieved and in love, that I nearly forgot to stand, and did forget to curtsy, which I really should have done, seeing as he was, after all, royalty. I was vaguely aware of Mrs. Gainswood, saying nothing, but curtseying deeply and leaving us alone.

He seemed uneasy too, and we looked at each other silently for a moment.

"Your high—"

"Are you well? How are your injuries?"

"They are healing," I said. "Bearable."

"Good. That's good."

Belatedly, I recalled my manners, and managed a stiff-backed curtsey. "Won't you sit?"

"Of course. Here—" he reached to support me as I sat again. Then he took the seat next to me, and I realized to my mortification that had I left my book there, as he nearly sat on it.

"Court etiquette?" he murmured, glancing at the title, and gave me a pointed look. I blushed and looked away. Then, unexpectedly, his hand found mine, and I clung to it gratefully.

"Was your—how was your trip to town?" I was intensely curious about it, but would not say so directly.

He frowned briefly. "It served its purpose."

"Oh, well…" I took a deep breath. "I missed you."

The frown was gone, and his handsome smile appeared instead. "I'm glad for that, at least."

"Did you..." I knew I was blushing, but I made myself ask. "Did you miss me?"

His hand tightened. "You know that I did."

We smiled at each other, probably foolishly, but there was none to see. He was back. My prince had returned, and truly, that was all I cared about.

It's difficult to recall what all was said during that visit. Not much of consequence, I'm sure, but it was consequential to us because it was the first occasion that we had ever met under relatively normal circumstances—the very first social visit. We were awkward at first, but that passed in time, and soon we were strolling around the garden, my hand tucked in his arm. My primary memory is of the warmth of that arm, and his profile in the sunshine.

He did eventually speak of his time in town, and admitted that he had seen my step-mother. He was evasive about what precisely took place, but assured me that I did not need to concern myself with her any longer. "She will not trouble you," he said firmly. "And if she does, then you must tell me at once."

"I would not like to—"

"Promise me, Ella. Promise me that you will tell me immediately, should your step-mother contact you."

He looked so earnest that I could only promise. Truthfully, I had hardly thought of my step-mother in the past week—or even before. The prince had driven her completely from my thoughts, and now it appeared that he had driven her from my life as well.

~%~

There followed a quiet, idyllic time when Simon called often at the country house. A few words to the servants and everyone understood that his presence there was a very great secret. What he told his companions I do not know; we never spoke of it, only of books and geography, history and politics—everything but the things that would, perhaps, affect us most in the long term. He held my hand almost always but never kissed me, though there were many times I thought he would. In the evenings godmother would give me etiquette lessons and drill me on the royal court. I learned how the king liked to be addressed, which ladies to avoid, which men likewise, what never to say at a dinner party, and that the queen mother hated perfume. It was bewildering, and daunting, and there were times when, my head swimming, I wanted to run hide again, but then the next morning Simon would come, hazel eyes so bright and beautiful, stroking my cheek, and my resolve was strengthened again.

After about two weeks of this, Simon brought someone to meet me. This other man was a little shorter, a little darker and a little younger, but the resemblance was still strong.

I looked from one to the other, swallowed, and curtsied. "Your highness."

"Edmund," said Simon, "may I present to you Lady Elisabeth Travers. Lady Elisabeth, this is, as you have already guessed, my brother Prince Edmund."

"I remember Lady Elisabeth," said the prince, with a gallant bow. "And you are as lovely now as you were then."

"Your highness is too kind," I murmured. I wondered what this reference to the ball indicated.

His formality suddenly broke into a smile. "We've all been wondering where Simon was sneaking off to. It makes prodigious sense now."

Simon had spoken of his brother with great affection mingled with slight disapproval for his reputation as a breaker of hearts. I could understand both, meeting him. Edmund was at once very like and very unlike the Crown Prince. He lacked his direct manners and seriousness, but had the same natural charm. He was polished, dandified and dashing, but sweet-tempered and seemingly ready to be pleased. I was nervous at first, especially since Simon so obviously wanted us to get along, but he soon made he me laugh. He told tales of foppish courtiers' idiosyncrasies, and the grand duchess's wig.

"They say her servants scour the countryside for maidens with long, beautiful locks, and then she pays them to sheer them right off! Nearly every week, some poor, bald milkmaid is seen leaving her house."

Remembering something Godmother had told me, I smiled. "And how does Lady Saltash view such exploitation of the lower classes?"

He looked surprised. "With very proper disapproval, I assure you."

I felt inordinately proud of myself.

After nearly an hour, Prince Edmund bid me goodbye and Simon escorted him out to his horse. They had a low-voiced conversation while I waited, then Simon came back. "I would stay longer if I could," he said, "but I am afraid I must join my brother."

"Of course you must go." I tried to smile.

"You know I will come back when I can." He took my hand and kissed it. "Until then."

I watched them go, both straight-backed upon their mounts. The similarity between them was very pronounced.

It had been a test of sorts, I felt sure. A very first, mild test, with someone Simon trusted, but whose opinion could matter. When Simon appealed to his father for consent, Edmund's support or disapproval would naturally be of some consideration for their parents. Oh, I had no doubt that Simon genuinely wished me to know his brother, and for us to like each other for our own sakes, but there was no question that it was still a test—and I did not know how I had done.

I was surprised to find Simon on the doorstep that evening. I was walking down the hall, there was a light knock on the door, and there he was. He had a cloak thrown about his shoulders, his hair was ruffled, and I saw in the light from the door that his eyes looked happy.

Almost instantly his hand shot out and he grasped my wrist and pulled me out into the darkness with him. "Whe—Simon!" I laughed. "What is the meaning of this, sir?"

"I had to see you." His free hand moved to cheek, then down to my shoulder. I was standing very nearly within his arms.

"But it's late." My voice lowered instinctively. "Your people must be missing you."

"I don't care. I'm missing _you._" This time it was the inside of the my wrist that he pressed his lips to, and the sensation tingled all along my arm. "When will I be able to stop leaving you, Ella?" he demanded in reckless fashion. "Every deuced day I have to leave you. I don't want to leave, I want to stay... or to take you with me." His head dropped lower, and the hand on my shoulder pulled me closer.

I wondered briefly if he had—against all I knew of him—been drinking and peered at his eyes, but while they were bright they were also clear. "Simon—" He bent even lower and my breath hitched as his breath tickled ear, and his lips seemed to brush against my neck. "What—what happened?"

"Edmund liked you," he murmured, and my skin from ear to shoulder positively prickled from the heat and closeness of his mouth. "I know he would, but—" I felt it then, the first gentle press of his lips. "But to hear him—" Another. "—say so..."

I closed my eyes and wondered if I could bear it. I wondered too if he even fully realized what he was doing, as his attentions continued unabated. This was new and potent and dangerous. I felt nothing else, knew nothing else but his nearness, his warmth and height and hands, and the soft caress of his kisses on the skin of my neck and shoulder.

At length he stilled. I was nearly sagging against him. He gave a deep, quiet groan and said my name and at last his arms came all the way round me, holding me close. His hand groped in my hair and at my cheek, he said my name again, and then, finally; finally he truly kissed me.

Such things are difficult to describe—nor, perhaps should they be described. It did not last long, but it had changed everything. We both knew it had changed everything. I saw him smile, then there were footsteps through the still-open door behind me, and my godmother's voice. "Ella? Where are you, child?"

I drew back quickly. He let me go, but when I gestured for him to leave he gave me a look which said that he, soldier and prince, did not skulk around, and neither did he retreat into the night like thief.

"Ella?" The door swung open further as Mrs. Gainswood's figure appeared. "What—your royal highness!" She curtsied deeply, even while sending me a quizzical glance.

"Forgive me, madam. I simply wished to say goodnight to her ladyship." He bowed politely, giving no indication that he was just engaged in any amorous activity. I felt more flustered, and did not manage any coherent remarks.

"You are always welcome, of course, but there's no reason to stand outside. Will you not come in?"

"Thank you, but no. I must be returning." He bowed again. "Mrs. Gainswood; Lady Elisabeth."

We curtsied and murmured farewells, and I watched him mount his horse and disappear into the darkness. When we came back into the bright hall, Mrs. Gainswood shut the door and fixed me with a reproachful gaze.

"Don't look at me like that," I protested, my cheeks flaming. "I've done nothing wrong."

"Do you think me a fool? I know what you were doing out there in the dark." She shook her head. "Oh, Ella, be careful."

"Careful?" The warning confused and annoyed me. "What do you mean, be careful? You were the one who urged me to believe that he meant to marry me!"

"He does mean to marry you, but you are not married yet. Nor engaged. There is a king who has to give his permission first, lest you forget, and while I have no doubt that your young man will do everything in his power to get that permission, your path isn't clear yet. You have neither the freedom nor the protection of an engaged woman, and you mustn't forget it."

I knew she was right, but felt frustrated and defensive. "Do you expect me to push him away?"

For a moment she looked stern, then softened, and her eyes began to twinkle again. "I would consider you a very odd sort of girl if you did," she admitted. "But you mustn't encourage him. And no more meetings at night!"

I made the promise, but wondered as I did if I would be able to keep it.


	13. Chapter 13

**STOP! **

**Go back and read chapter 12, if you haven't already! I had put a placeholder note there before, and so when I changed the note for an actual chapter, it didn't show up as a new chapter, so none of my followers would have gotten a notice about it.**

**Chapter 13**

The next morning, the two princes came again. I am sure I blushed a little more than usual on first meeting Simon's eyes, but I was able to greet his brother with more confidence than yesterday. Knowing that he liked me, that he had told Simon that he liked me, relieved my anxiety a great deal. He was a friend, and someday, hopefully, would be my brother.

So we chatted and laughed and ate cook's excellent biscuits (the young prince consumed a prodigious number of them). Mrs. Gainswood stitched quietly in her corner, watching everything with shrewd eyes. He stayed even longer than last time and this time, when he left, he left alone.

"Would you walk in the garden with me?" Simon asked when he had gone. Mrs. Gainswood, of course, had no choice but to allow it—it wasn't the first time I felt the advantage of a royal suitor who could not be refused.

We strolled amid the roses, saying little at first, perhaps both self-conscious. When we came to the far end, he drew me into an arbor, and looked at me seriously. "Do you want me to apologize for last night?"

I could only shake my head.

"Good," he said, and took me into his arms again.

As he bent his head I thought fleetingly of the promise I had made to my godmother, but what was I to do? It was all very well to talk of not encouraging him, but _she_ wasn't the one standing here, within the bliss and fire of his embrace, feeling all of his tenderness and passion, and my tenderness and passion, and the soft touch of his lips...

It was hopeless. It was quite utterly hopeless, and I gave it up, without regret.

When he finished kissing me he buried his face in my neck. "If I were not a man of honor," he said presently, "I would have done that the first night I met you."

I could not but smile. "I must not be a lady," I countered, "for I would probably have let you."

"I'm sorry." He drew back a little. "Although you do not ask an apology, I know I should not be doing this. It is not proper—or right—when nothing is settled, but you know—you have always known my intentions."

I nodded, a little shy.

He drew back further and looked down at me, his hands still on my waist. "I will marry you, Elisabeth Travers," he swore, "if you love me."

"Can you doubt it?"

"A man in love always doubts."

I gave a tremulous smile at hearing his profession, made in so passing a manner, and spoke quietly. "Then doubt no more."

He kissed me again, lingeringly and joyfully, and then in time we sat on a nearby bench, and for the first time since that night he had tended my back, really and truly talked about the situation we were in.

"I know," I said, "that I am not a good match for you. Even if my father were still alive, and I had been brought up properly, an earl's daughter is hardly a proper conquest for the future king."

He could not deny it, but shrugged. "These things do not matter as much as they used to. You come from an old family."

"What will you do if your father refuses to agree?"

He frowned at that, and looked down at our joined hands, rubbing his thumb across mine. "I will not give up, I can promise you that."

"And will—is the queen—?"

He smiled. "When I tell her how madly in love I am," he said, now raising my hand to his lips, "she will be so happy, she won't care who you are."

Privately I doubted this, but blushed and thrilled to hear him say such things.

"I have to return to town soon," said Simon, "as early as next week, and I hope that you will make plans to return as well. I am sure that Mrs. Gainswood would be willing to go."

I nodded. "And then?" That was the very big question.

"I have thought this through carefully. I believe it would be best to approach my mother first. I will ask her to meet you. Edmund will be able to help me—he can assure her that you everything pleasing. Then she in turn can help me plead our case to the king. I think," he paused, "I think that perhaps you and your godmother should begin to go about in society as soon as possible. Let yourself be seen. I asked my brother his opinion on this, since he is much more familiar with upper society and the court, and he believes that a known quantity must always be more acceptable than an unknown, and that if you begin to appear at balls and dinners, and if I am there too, and show you attention—well, it will establish a public expectation of the match, and that, in turn, may influence my father."

As much as he spoke in a calm, reassuring way, I felt the unspoken implication behind all this scheming—the fact that consent for our marriage was not certain, nor easily obtained.

"What if I don't do well?" I asked. "What if I make mistakes, or fail to please?"

"You won't." He squeezed my hand.

"But I may," I insisted. "I've only been to two balls in my entire life, after all. I wasn't raised for this like you were. What do we do if your mother doesn't like me—or society laughs at me?"

"I am not afraid of that. You do not see yourself the way I do. But, Ella—I _will_ stand by you."

We spoke some more about arrangements—what day he would go, what I and my godmother should do, how I could contact him if needed. I could not be easy, but I was comforted, by his confidence and promises. I did not doubt his faithfulness, nor the sincerity of the feelings he professed to me. It seemed incredible—as it had always seemed incredible—that he should have fallen in love with me, but nothing other than love could have motivated his actions so far, and I trusted him completely. When he left me at last, I really was beginning to believe that all would be well—that the sheer force of our desire to be together would be enough to conquer all obstacles.

~%~

It was late that same afternoon. Not expecting any more visitors, Mrs. Gainswood had gone out. I was upstairs trying to study the history of the monarchy, but completely unable to think of anything but the man I loved. There was a knock on the door, and Sarah, our maid, came in.

"There's a caller for you, madam."

She looked more amazed than she should have, as often as Simon came these days, but I put that down to his coming back a second time. My heart leapt and I felt giddily happy to think that he had returned—it meant he missed me as much as I missed him. I ran down the stairs like an excited school-girl—only to draw up short at the bottom.

There was a prince standing in the hall, but it wasn't Simon.

My heart sank when I saw him. I knew there could only be one reason he was here alone. We made the necessary greetings, but I am sure I could not keep the dread from my eyes. He must have seen it, for he looked at me soberly. "I can see that you are too intelligent not to realize why I'm here." He took a breath. "Will you do me the honor of showing me your garden?"

But I could not take him there, where Simon had kissed me and professed his love. Instead I showed him to the parlor. Edmund did not comment on the change of location, just entered quietly, and waited for me to shut the door.

I twisted my hands together and looked at him. "You told Simon you liked me."

"I do like you," he said. "I would not be here if I didn't."

I sent him a confused look.

"If I thought you foolish or calculating, I would not even bother. But you are not a fool, and appear to be as enamored as he is. Therefore I hope you might see reason."

"He would be very angry, if he knew you were here."

"That is a chance I have to take," he said.

There didn't seem to be anything to say to that, so I said nothing. Edmund turned away and walked to the mantle, where he began to inspect the various ornaments displayed on it.

"My royal brother, as you know, it the best of men, and will be a good king someday. But his years of military service, while admirable, have made him forget..." I jerked my head up, prepared to defend his character, "... not his place, or his duty. He could never forget those. But he has forgotten, I think, some of the realities of royal life... such as the fact that princes cannot marry where they choose." He fiddled with figure of a courtesan in wide skirts, face painted and hair piled high. "I know for a fact that my father the King has been some months in negotiating possible matches within other royal families. He has said nothing to his son about it yet because he wished to allow him some time to readjust to life at court first."

I could feel my cheeks pale. There she was: the foreign princess whose specter had so often filled thoughts. "The prince believes he can persuade his Majesty to consent," I managed to say.

"I know he does; he has told as much. But I cannot agree."

"Why did you not say that to him?"

"I did warn him that it might not be as easy as he hoped, but it was not my place to disclose what our father has chosen to conceal."

_Except to me_, I thought. "Then what harm can come from his asking? The worst the King can do is refuse."

"Because if I know my brother, he will not accept a refusal. Especially if he feels that he has made you a definite promise—" he looked pointedly at me and I flushed, "he will hold himself bound, and it could lead to a rift which may never be healed. There is a great stubbornness that runs in our family—though I believe myself exempt from it—and it is all too likely to become a battle of wills where the King is determined Simon shall not marry you, and Simon is determined to marry no one else. In the end, my father may resort to separating you by distance." At this point I could see traces of real distress in Edmund's voice and face. "He'll send him away—to Europe, or even to the wars again, in hope that he'll forget you. Or, he may find a way to place _you_ beyond Simon's reach."

"Would he really be so cruel?" I exclaimed.

His face tightened impatiently, and I remembered again that I was talking to a prince. "Not cruel, pragmatic. My father is at heart a compassionate man, and he loves his children, but neither does he ever forget his responsibility to his country. Why should he let his son—his [i]_heir[/i]_—marry an unknown girl of murky background when he could make a political alliance that would benefit the nation entire?"

It was true. His reasons were sound, I could not refute them. Pressing my hands together, I shut my eyes. "You want me to break his heart."

He did not answer immediately, and when he did, his voice was regretful. "No," he said. "No, I don't want it at all. But I fear it's inevitable, and it would be easier—_better_, for him and for you, for my mother, and for all England, if it happened now, quietly. He would be free then."

My thoughts swirled around and around, and I felt as if a great weight was pressing down on me. Images of Simon, of the palace's grandeur, of the king and queen who I had just glimpsed across the room at the ball, melded with the maps and lessons and political alliances I had so recently been studying.

No doubt seeing my struggle, Edmund pressed his advantage. "You are very beautiful," he said, "and you have both spirit and charm. It is easy to see why my brother is so much in love with you. If he were any other man, I would be positively encouraging him. But he's not any other man, and his wife will have duties far beyond a usual woman." His gaze was kind but skeptical. "Do you have any experience at all in navigating upper society?"

"No, but I can learn."

"Can you distinguish between those who are sincerely friendly and those who are not? Do you understand the nuances of long-running feuds between families, or matters of subtle precedence, or who's having an affair—or had an affair—and how to handle the situations arising from it? Can you even arrange the seating for a dinner without committing blunders?"

I pinched the bridge of my nose, fighting hard to remain calm. "My godmother has been giving me lessons."

"Forgive me, but Mrs. Gainswood has been in Europe for the last fifteen years. She may be up on all the latest gossip, but that doesn't mean her understanding is sufficient for your needs."

"A foreigner wouldn't know those things either."

"Perhaps, but a princess would bring far more to table than just her social skills."

I had been afraid of these things—if I were honest, I was still afraid of them. Edmund had effectively appealed to my every weakness—my insecurities, my love for Simon, my sense of duty to king and country.

Still in my mind, a kaleidoscope of images whirled madly—sneering courtiers, bloody battlegrounds, palaces, thrones, crowns, a wide stormy sea, the glittering chandelier in the grand ballroom—and a shadowy figure scrubbing pots that I knew was me. How much stronger would be Edmund's disapprobation if he knew my true history? Then, all at once, the whirling stopped, and settled with pristine clarity on one single image: Simon, _my_ Simon, standing in this very parlor, his eyes filled with hurt, anger and confusion; I had put them there. How much greater would his feelings be now, after weeks of courtship, after I had kissed him and called him my love? He had come back to me, then, despite my twice rejection. I knew instinctively that he would not come back a third time; even his pride had its limits—but that was not what mattered. What mattered was him. Him and his trust in me.

I breathed deeply and when I thought I could speak, I said, "If his royal highness wishes to leave me, I will let him go without a protest or question, and I will never try to contact or follow him. I know I am not worthy him. But do not ask me to leave him." He opened his mouth as if to protest, but I cut him off. "You tell me your father will refuse, you tell me terrible things will happen, but I do not know that. Perhaps you are right, but perhaps you are not, and in any case, I cannot be responsible, for Simon or your father, or any other but myself, and I will not betray him. He has the right to choose!" This last as he frowned and tried to speak again. "He has the right to choose for himself what he will do. How can I take that from him? How can _you_ take that from him, who will be your king? Do you respect him so little?"

I thought he flinched at that, but he answered steadily enough, "Love has blinded him as it has you."

"Do you think he has no right to even try for happiness? That I have no right? I wish a thousand times that he was a simple colonel in the arm than a prince, but in either form he is the man I love! He seeks—" I was breathing heavily and had to gasp for air. "He seeks me, why I do not know, but I am firmly convinced that he needs me for his happiness, and is not the happiness of a king for the benefit of his people?" I pressed my hands to my eyes. "He trusts me," I almost whispered, "and I cannot betray him. I cannot hurt him again."

There was a long silence. I lifted my head and made myself meet his eyes. He did not look angry, just rather wry and resigned. "You are quite magnificent in your indignation," he said at last, in a dry voice. "I am sure my brother would be most gratified."

I lifted my chin.

"I cannot say I am terribly surprised, but I had to come. My conscience demanded it."

My sense of disdain was so strong I am sure my lip curled, and he laughed, though there was little mirth in it. "I may be a dandy, Lady Ella," he said, "but I do have a conscience." He bowed. "I will take my leave then, but I hope that, once your feelings have cooled, you might consider my words in a more rational light."

Because he was still, after all, a prince, I escorted him to the door and curtsied low before he left. Then I went back to the parlor and sat down on the sofa and took long, deep breaths, desperately trying not to cry. Had I done right? I couldn't believe otherwise, but dread churned in me. What if he was right? What if Simon's determination to marry me resulted in disaster? I couldn't bear to think of Simon, exiled to another country, sent into battle, just to separate him from me. I wouldn't let that happen, I thought. If it came to that—if the worst threatened—then I would leave. I would take whatever money I had and disappear. Then Simon would be safe. "I will keep him safe," I murmured.


End file.
